Outside Looking In.

I’m the person who doesn’t get drunk.

Who sits on the side, watching.

Watching them smile, watching them laugh.

They are the picture of freedom.

They are also the story of great sadness.

For behind that facade of no strings, all out fun…

Pains are hidden, memories buried, problems avoided.

I am present. I feel. I am encumbered and overwhelmed by my thoughts.

Taken on a ride into the depth of despair at times, by my mind.

I know though. I am here.

I am alive. I have empathy, understanding.

That caring nature that is the cause of so much upset.

That is me. It’s raw.

My feelings are intense and intimidating.

I embrace them.

There’s no cheap thrill to run away from my problems.

We deal differently.

I know.

I am not boring, for handling my problems unaided.

For encouraging my body and brain to speak to me.

Once I would numb it.

Take away the hurt, the uncertainties.

Now I take it in my stride.

I accept I am an emotional, thought provoked being.

I am serious. Planned, precise.

Does that make me any less worthy?

Others may think so.

Me?

I say let them dismiss me,

My methods are natural,

Pure.

Real.

At times I’m sure I hate myself for being so invested.

For having a mind that works the day shift, night shift and overtime.

Sometimes I wish for a life where I “just don’t care”.

Truth is I do care.

I care so much that I know not what to do all that care.

I care on behalf of others.

I think in regards of others.

At times I regret that I am so thoughtful.

The alternative is being closed off.

Indecisive, incapable of affection.

I’ve been there, done that.

It was not a fun time.

So my resolution was to accept my gift.

Some haven’t the ability to be considerate.

To be mindful and helpful.

I do and I have.

That’s a thing to be proud of.

The Same Old.

Sat on a bench,

No stars above,

The sky consumed by darkness,

The odd car passing by,

One lonely plane passing over,

My belongings in a bag

Sat beside me,

My feelings a jumble,

My head hot,

Tears in my eyes,

I am a joke,

I am a mess,

I’m a gullible fool,

Who’d expect anything less.

Thoughts At The Trainstation.

A woman just come up to me and asked me how to use the ticket machine. I don’t know as I don’t actually use them. I either pay online or on the train. Anyway I helped her and told her the train times… Then I sat down and thought I help people without even a second thought, the reason why? I always think… if it’s a child lost, what if it was my little Brother. Someone hasn’t enough change for the bus, what if that was my Sister on the last bus home with not enough money and no other way home. Someone needs help figuring out a ticket machine, what if that was my Nan, no clue on how to use the machine and worked up because she’s in a busy place alone. I dunno if that’s a good reason to help people. I do believe you get back what you put out into the world. This isn’t a status to make me look good. More just an urge to others to put out as much good into the world as you can. I can pretty much say most of my friends, if not all do this anyway. I just don’t understand people that don’t work this way. I would do anything for anyone, sometimes that makes me a push over. I try to find the balance between helping, and putting myself and my mental wellbeing at risk. Usually the people that ask me for help don’t expect more than I can give though. I am thankful for that. I am grateful I have been brought up to be considerate of others, and considerate of the world.

My Perfectly Imperfect Body!

So these two pictures show me at very different sizes. So you would be tempted to think I was much happier when I was thin. That I am much more depressed because I’m fat now… You would be very, very wrong. You see in the first picture, everything I ate came straight back out. I was that anxious 24/7 that my poo was like liquid 99% of the time. I also couldn’t go out most places unless I went to the toilet about 10 times before leaving the house. I definitely couldn’t go out if I knew there were no toilets where I was going. Whenever I would go anywhere I had to google first to see if there were any toilet facilities there. When I would get to wherever we were going, I would scan the place to makesure I could see the toilets and would always stay near them.

I would half attempt to enjoy myself, while half of me was telling me to abort and run for the toilet. Every time I went out it was a constant battle. I had to push myself to carry on and only allow myself to go to the toilet at certain intervals. The amount of panic attacks I had back then. Going in cars, or anywhere where I had to be “caged in” or couldn’t get to a toilet, caused me severe anxiety… then of course I would need the toilet more. Many a time I was enduring a panic attack while out with my family, and I just had to carry on. Talk my way through it, anything just to focus on something other than my extreme need to just run away and cry. Honestly my siblings helped me so much, I would concentrate on them and put all of my energy into talking to them.

At this point my OCD wasn’t at it’s peak but it was still present. So while I was having panic attacks and suffering with my depression, I was self harming. (This was one of the first pictures of me wearing shorts, purely because I couldn’t wear them previous to this because my cuts would show). At this point I think they were scarred up, but the temptation to resort to self harm to cope when things got overwhelming was still strong.

Talking of coping… it was at this point, when I was skinny and wore make up and low cut tops… that I would meet random men, online. I was too scared to go out to have the chance to meet people normally, say like in a pub or in a shop. Nope I met my men online. Then engaged in intimate relationships more or less straight away. As I was sure they would leave, so I kind of did it so they would stay, but also because I knew they would leave. I was so dependent on other people’s approval and company. I lived online. I felt like 2 seperate people. I had my online life where I would just be an actual slut and really degrade myself. Then real life I would try to be the best sister, and daughter I could.

I really didn’t have any personal interests other than watching netflix. No hobbies, I put everything I had into my family and my online life. Every day I couldn’t stand being alone. That’s when I would drink. Alone, in my room. As if it wasn’t bad enough, I also would get drunk when meeting people. I couldn’t face leaving the house sober. Even if it was a couple of bottles. I needed it to go out the house. Or if I had a bad day… or if someone wouldn’t talk to me. I had these online “friends” that basically used me. I would cry, and drink, and self harm when they left or found me “too full on and overwhelming”.

This was also around the time that when I met these people from the internet I would grow attached so quickly. They would be my everything, then when they inevitably left I would return to my negative coping strategies and I was back to square one. Onto the next person to talk to. I abhorred being alone. I hated my own company. I had no social skills. I would post online looking so pretty and made up, deep down I didn’t leave the house. I was so unbelievably sad. Hiding everything from my family. Having nobody to talk to. Skipping my meds. Not eating, overeating, unprotected sex, drinking, selfharm, meeting strangers in the Chase to drink, going round people’s houses that I had never met before. If they had alcohol I would be there. When I didn’t have the money to get myself I would meet others for it, I literally offered to do intimate stuff with someone for alcohol. I just wanted to numb everything.

I felt everything then nothing. I would be feeling so great, then crash down. So wouldn’t say I was happier back then. I threw away all of my friendships. Created fake online ones with people that didn’t care about me. Pushed everyone away. Used horrible coping strategies. I was so scared back then, and alone. I would walk around in the dark ouside, crying and desperate for it to end. Too scared to go home. I would base my worth on whether someone spoke to me. Everytime someone online stopped talking, I would spiral again. Sometimes I didn’t even have a real life. I spent months just in bed talking online, forgetting to eat most days.

So yeah I see how far I have come. I am proud of what I have accomplished. I do get sad that my body isn’t like that anymore. However, I have learnt and changed. I have become a better person. I help others yes, but I do what I need for myself too. If I need alone time I take it. I want to go for a walk I do it. I want to talk to family I do it. I worked hard and forced myself to get through an awful time. I still feel terrible some days, but I have come so far. So I do get sad that I am not skinny anymore, but this body has carried me through so much. It’s undergone a real number of haircuts, and had a ton of piercing punches through it. It’s done a great job. So it’s fatter now. It’s got stretch marks and, it sweats like all the time… seriously my boobs are just like sweat bags most the time. Does it matter though? My siblings still love me. My Mom and Dad, Nan and Gramps, Dayle. They all still love me. I’m fat and happy and they love me.

So does size really matter? If I lose weight am I worth more? No! Is it okay to lose weight? Yes. Do I have to? Not if I don’t wish to! If I lost weight now it would be for health reasons, not for looks. Honestly I do feel too big at times, but I realise it’s not the be all and end all. If I want to lose weight I can. I should only do it for me though, because I want to, not because I am shamed into it. Or because I am made to not feel less than I am. Just because I am fat doesn’t mean I am not worthy. I am more worthy now than I was when I was thin. Purely because I am making better choices. Size, age, colour, gender… doesn’t matter, it’s who you decide to be and the impact you have on those around you. Give happiness and create goodness in the world.

My First Blog Post of 2020

It’s currently 6:44 a.m. I’ve been awake since 5:00 a.m. I just figured I would share some of my thoughts. I really neglected this blog, I used come here all the time and post about my life. 2018 was a turning point for me, in both a good and bad way. In the sense that I hit rock bottom, and I really, really thought it was the end… I didn’t see any way of getting past it. My anxiety was the worst it had been, my OCD was devastating, and I was having terrible thoughts, and disillusions about the world, and my place in it. It was a really dark time, and I slipped away from my family… and fell hard into the world of online reality, and even harder into the arms of strangers, and negativity.

Coming on here and commenting to people’s replies felt like it was a necessity at this point. I felt that I was forced to do it. It made me not come on here in the end. I avoided it as I avoid everything else that feels scary and daunting. I’ve written on here a few times since then, but not consistently, nothing solid. I used to put my whole life into this blog, it used to be everything… but it just caught up with me. I couldn’t cope anymore, it was sucking the life out of me. I didn’t have the energy to put into it. I would wake up and look at views and comments, and just feel awful if I wasn’t having a lot of views. I let it consume me, and that was not the idea of this blog. The idea was to connect with others, and to not feel alone. To help others, to let them feel like they had support… but at the end of the day it wasn’t good for me. I got two engrossed in it, and I was just in a time in my life where everything was spiralling. I was all over the place, making terrible decisions, pushing everybody away.

It sounds bad when I say this, but I couldn’t face having to constantly reassure people. I mean the aim of my blog was to make people feel ok, but a lot of the time I wasn’t feeling ok. Seeing other’s sadness just pulled me further into the darkness that was surrounding me. I still felt like I had to be there for others, and honestly it was just too much for me, when I couldn’t even be there for myself. I’m scared to do it again. That’s why I’ve avoided it so harshly, I don’t want to be in that position again. I don’t want to put that much pressure on myself, so now I just write a post and leave it. I don’t really want to be like that, I want to be a person that checks their posts, a person that communicates with their followers, the people that take the time to read my posts. I want to show how grateful I am, but I can’t face being in that position again. I can’t face going back to that place where it just took everything out of me. I didn’t enjoy going on here anymore, it felt like I had to do it. That actually makes me sad, so occasionally I might post on here. I have a lot to say, a lot of the time.

Looking back I feel really awful that I let something that should have been a positive outlet, takeover and turn into something monstrous. I’m sure it wasn’t just this blog that attributed to my downwards turn in mental health. I’m pretty sure it was what was going on in my life as well. My OCD just took a turn in the worst way, I had to hit rock bottom to understand that I’m in a much better place now. I was able to get to a point where I am grateful for what I have. Without being that low in the past, I think I wouldn’t be able to see how far I’ve come now. I wouldn’t grasp the importance of opening up, and pushing myself, not in a bad way, but in an encouraging way. A way that helped me. I pushed myself to talk to people, (in person). To face reality, escape the online life I constantly retreated to… I pushed myself to go out… even if it was just to the shop. To normalise myself with going out and speaking to people. To normalise talking about mental health.

I’ve found much better coping strategies, and actually take on board what my therapist says to me now. I have a much better support bubble too. I guess if I hadn’t hit that rock bottom point, I wouldn’t know a better way if living. I would have just been stuck in the old ways, not being motivated to change. I think it hit a point where I felt I had no choice but to take that leap, and make a change. It was slow, and I made a lot of mistakes, but eventually I gravitated to a place I am happy and belong.

This blog really helped me me end the stigma for myself, regarding mental health. I think it put faith in the fact that people would understand, and that if they didn’t, that I could teach them, explain how stuff affects me. Even if they don’t 100-percent understand, they can appreciate how hard it is for me. Maybe not fully comprehend, but at least partially. Hopefully understanding the reason I am the way I am, and the reason I do stuff the way I do. I think all in all this blog made me realise that I don’t care if people think that I’m faking, I don’t care if people judge me. I’m going to say if I’ve got a problem mentally… and speaking here on this blog is what got me to understand that I can be open. Not everyone will judge, most will even help. I achieved acceptance, and I found the courage to explain how I was feeling. Not just online, but in person too. Where I could actually get the help I needed. It hit home and made me feel brave enough to actually say in person, that I wasn’t doing great. Step over that line of embarrassment and shame and say “actually I really need help. I have been struggling for a long time. I am scared I won’t recover this time.”

So now 2 years on and coronavirus is my biggest problem, as I’m sure it is for most people. Since it’s 2020, I figured I had to bring that up. I’m not going to apologize if this blog doesn’t seem like my older ones. I’m not even sure if people that were around when I first started this will still be here. So I’m not even sure if that comparison will be viable, but previously I would write, and rewrite these posts… I would just have so many drafts, that wouldn’t be perfect. When I did post, I would have to find the perfect words, so I felt like it was perfect piece of writing… if that even exists. I would be so hard on myself, and I think that was another reason why I couldn’t do it anymore. As I said there was just a lot of pressure, and not coming from anybody on here you’re all amazing… I put it on myself.

I put pressure on myself all the time, to be perfect, to do stuff right. It really does get to me. I find it really hard to work, or do anything that is for somebody else… even doing hobbies, I’ve only just realised how to paint something for myself. To create something to please myself, not to meet anybody else’s standards. I’m sure most people don’t even put that pressure on me, that they don’t even have high standards for me… I just create the standards out of fear. Fear that it’s not going to be good enough, that I’m not going to be good enough. That’s one of my problems I’m worried I’m not going to be good enough, that what I produce is not of a high enough quality. It is something that I put on myself, which is one of the biggest reasons why I stopped posting on here. It’s one of the reasons I don’t post on Instagram that much. I have to be in the right mindset, because I have to post these pristine posts… because that’s how my brain works. I couldn’t post anything on here that wasn’t using the correct grammar. That didn’t have perfect punctuation. I would go online and find synonyms of words just to get the best sounding sentences. The thing is, I think people would have read it anyway. Even as I am saying that, I’m scared it’s not true. That people won’t like this piece, because it’s not been kept in a draft, and edited for months.

That said I’ve actually written this through the microphone on my phone, so that all I have to do is go through and put full stops in… and edit the inevitable spelling mistakes. I’ve always been one to use extravagant words on a whole anyway. When it comes to writing, it’s no different, it’s a way to express myself. I have always used quirky and odd phrases, and I love that about myself. At the same time, sometimes I just want to speak normally though, just explain myself, with no flare. To not always put pressure on myself to be that person that uses grand words. Don’t get me wrong, that is part of me… but sometimes it is tiring to do that constantly. I also know that I’ve said pressure so many times, but I can’t think of another word and previous to this I would have written synonyms of pressure on google, and then used different words. This is just going to be raw though so I will just have to leave pressure in. I guess if you don’t like it then that’s valid, but I am sure some people will like it. So that’s ok too.

My truth on OCD

I wrote a post on facebook related to a post I saw about how people don’t tell you the whole story of OCD. I have heard stories of people being driven to the edge because of thoughts due to OCD but not knowing what was going on. I have been there. If you’ve been there, or are there too… You’re not alone. I just wanted to share this on here because it resonated with me and I just felt so happy. It’s a sad topic that so many people have to deal with this without diognoses suffering each day. Many people are happy with their years because they have families or are engaged or have a nice house or great job. Congratulations. I am happy for those people who achieved that. Rather than be envious I want to be happy for others and be happy for myself too. For me 2018 was the year I learnt I had OCD and my years and years of torment made sense. It’s the year I bested my panic attacks. It’s the year I caught a train alone. The year I thrived within my photography. I had another little sister and I spent time with her aswell as the rest of my family. The beginning of this year nothing seemed possible. It’s so so far from over. But however your 2018 went. You are still here. You fought another year. Don’t be down that others have had great years. In our own way we all have. We all work at our own pace. We all have our own goals and dreams. Focus on how hard you all have worked. I am proud of every single person who has dealt with this year and come out the other end. Christmas and new year can suck. But we are here. We have eachother. Here’s to 2019. When we understand our mental health more than before and we help ourselves, and others. I am here for anyone who doubts their worth. Have a safe and happy year. Fight on. Be brave. Just don’t give up. There’s so much out there to be discovered. Don’t close the book yet. Turn the page to live another adventure!

Another failed attempt

Yunno when you have something really good in your life. But your brain tells you it’s going to end and that you can’t keep it up. Eventually the real you will come through and break this picture of perfect happiness. So you push it down and down, this little voice in your head. But… then there’s this little trickle of doubt that the voice has created. Over the duration of the day things happen which add to that doubt. To others these things may seem inconsequential and unimportant. To you they seem like huge craters laying claim to your plan of perfect happiness. So you start to numb yourself. Layer by layer, the walls go up. Your heart has a coat of pure ice around it. Your brain switches. You know the consequences. You know you’ll regret it later. But you can’t stop yourself. You can’t reach that happy place. You can’t find logic. You can’t reason with you brain or think about the outcome. You know it’s bad, but you just can’t find it in you to care. So word by word. You build up that barrier. Insult after insult, you build the gap that will be set in stone after you return to normal. After, you start to think again in you regular pattern… the damage is done though. Those hurtful comments. Those things you dug so deep into the coldest, darkest part of you to say to someone. They haven’t disappeared. You have returned to yourself. The aftermath is all around though. Your path of destruction has stolen those closest. You’re left empty. Desperate for some kind of second chance. Though you know it’s undeserved. As you’ll do this again and again. For it’s all you know. It’s all you can do. Put it off as you might. It always comes back to this. You will always be alone. People can try. You’re too damaged. How can you return to normal after you acted so horrifically, towards someone you cared so much for. I wish I had the answers. I fear I never will. I fear I shall forever be this way, and that I will never have a friend or a partner. I am incapable. Happiness is something I can’t live with. I’m forever anticipating the end of it. So much so, that I bring the end upon myself. I hate myself more than anyone else ever could. I hate the person I can be. I HATE THAT I WON’T EVER LET MYSELF BE HAPPY.

The Take Over, The Breaks Over.

It’s been a while. I’ve contemplated coming back for some time. I planned on writing why I’ve been absent. For as long as i can remember I’ve wanted to blog. Maybe though, i need to be a little less negative and more bright and hopeful instead.

I love that i have the ability to capture, describe, and explain something in a way that expresses it clearly, respectfully and honestly to people. But seriously i need brightness. I need lighter things in my life. I am so proud of how well i can portray the low times. Showcasing the lonely things in my life. I’m beyond happy that doing so helps others. However sometimes, it doesn’t help me.

To combat this I’m going to be exploring my mental health in a different light. Maybe there will be deeper, more upsetting posts… but for me, right now i need to focus on the positives.

Sharing my scariest and more disheartening moments online was a brave thing for me to do. I found comfort in it. It was a safety net, my support. I discovered great people through doing so. I felt a sense of community. I felt less alienated. I love encouraging people and opening up about my experiences as to reassure others.

That said i need something new. Moving onwards, seeing the good in life. Allowing myself to see things from a more promising perspective. Favouring an optimistic view in contrast to my previous vivid, yet somewhat distressing and cynical posts.

My posts will still be vivid. Hopefully so, i just need something. I have yet to explain the reasons behind my temporary leave. I may do in time. I will say this, it makes it difficult for me to write sometimes, as i feel i can’t use certain words. This vagueness may become clear in time. For now i can’t quite describe it. I just felt i should write something. So this is me writing as best i can.

Decisions – Too much choice for an anxious mind.

The amount of weight that lies within each decision. It feels the easiest option is to just opt out. Not make the decision. Elude it. For each choice i commit to has an outcome that will in turn have an impact on something else… I read into each consequential action that could occur by making a resolution.

Scrutinising. Analysing the ramifications of each choice is catastrophic. It’s imperative that i come to a conclusion for each decision residing in my mind. Crushed beneath the importance of it all. It’s both unimaginable and unexplainable, but nonetheless crucially and painfully present.

It’s just too much. The overbearing significance of each selection that is presented to me for careful consideration, antagonises me. Too much pressure, too much doubt. I sit and will myself. I attempt to be pro active. To find a slither of motivation. I just can’t.

One final decision; i must succumb to the hopelessness. I relax, feel the last bit of self worth and dignity leave my body. For if i do not agree to this i will surely submit to the pressure, and suffocate in options and decisions. I feel myself slump back into my bed, i just give up. Evading and hiding once more. Safe for another day.

Thought itself inspired me.

The struggle mentioned in my previous post may have just been solved, temporarily atleast. You see i love writing, i honestly do, so i stopped to think and realised again that nothing is original. It’s all just re-ordered words, notions rephrased slightly. The intention the same, just redecorated a little, renovated if you will. Brought into the times, modernised. I guess it could be concieved as interesting, since it means each person who recycles these thoughts, makes them they’re own. Puts their own individual mark upon them. A different twist, a change in perspective.

But thats when i realised, that’s it. Thats my post. Thought. It’s everywhere. Thoughts can be borrowed and improved, exchanged and expanded upon. They develop and evolve. A traveller experiencing the world. A thought progressing from person to person, picking up souvenirs along it’s journey. Each person that bears that thought, leaving their perception upon it as a parting gift. This thought it starts out small, and with love and attention, curiousity and devotion it transforms. It has the ability to see so much. Experience it all. From every persons view. This thought has an unabridged comprehension, a complete perspective, insights from all walks of life.

The thought prides itself on bringing people together. It’s a spark uniting unaware humans, compelling them to speak. Creating bonds, or even just a fleeting connection between two passers by. Two people sharing a brief encounter. That thought spreads, dispersing inspiration as it goes. Leaving in it’s wake this unified community, thriving with positive ideas. A bold and beautiful image. The beauty deepening and strengthening with each person that welcomes it. Embraces it, nurtures it and lets it free into the world once again.

A thought might not be original, but peoples imprints, effects and influences are. Individuals breathing creativety into this world. Revitalising each day with their brave and encouraging words. No matter the number of people they pass on this thought to, the significance doesn’t waver. It’s the intention and the will that counts. All these interpretations and views being traced back to the one original thought. It’s a masterpiece. A thing of sheer admiration. The paths it’s created, forging it’s own history and future. Mesmerising as both it’s simplicity and complexity, compliment each other perfectly.

All of this from a short glimpse of a single notion. Now this diverse network has formed. A work of art. For all to experience.

I can’t.

I can’t. I have tried to write so many posts and it’s just too hard. Nothing measures up, nothing satisfies, inspires, nor interests me enough. I don’t have the inclination to discover the motivation needed to see it through. There’s no passion, atleast not enough to carry me to the end. Why? Why do i find myself here? When nothing fits and i just struggle. Everything i write seems terrible, useless, meaningless. I’m disgarding so many posts. I’m urging myself to write one more word. Write another, form a sentence. Somehow convince others you’re somewhat good at this writing business.

Bus journey ritual.

Strangers stare as I step on. What if I trip up before I even get on the bus? I bet they hate my clothes. Head to toe in black; this is why I’ll never fit in.

Bus driver said, “Morning”. This is new. Of course, my brain fails me. I cut straight to the exchanging of money and the name of my desired destination, ignoring his attempt at polite small-talk. I seem impolite, as usual. Poor bus driver.

Wrong money. Too much, not enough – it’s bound to be off somehow. I counted it twenty times. They’ve changed the price. Great, now I look like I can’t count. Like I’m cheap. Quickly, I just say thank you and hurry for my seat.

Worse. What if when in my rush to be seated, (so i don’t fall when the bus driver inevitably pulls away while I’m still in the walkway… resulting in me being catapulting into the nearest victim), someone sits by me. Their leg against mine. My brain screaming at me the entire journey. Are they as aware of this as i am?

Worse still. Having to stand. Gripping on for dear life onto the hand holds dangling down. I’m highly un-coordinated. I’m in the way. My fat arse, and a huge bag filled with objects that I don’t feel safe away from home without. I’m falling again. Being a nuisance.

Desperately trying not to make eye contact. Ignorant.

Not wanting to seem impolite. Not wanting to give enough of a reason for someone to comment. Smiling too much. Always end up rudely staring. Zoning out. Or observing… always observing. Far too invested in people’s conversations. Constantly watching people like they’re my own personal TV show. Watching how people engage. Watching their mannerisms. Fascinating.

They all look so natural in this environment. They all know their part to play in society. They portrey it well. Perfectly executed.

What if I look weird? Besides the obvious zoning off and staring. I look weird; visibly nervous. What if they think I’m up to something? What if they think something is wrong with me?

What if someone strikes up a conversation? My mouth full of unfocused, meaningless sentences. Feigned interest written all over my face. Can they tell? I have little to no desire to converse with these people. Just let me enjoy watching you. Don’t make my brain have to work, just let me switch it off.

I’ll only say something inappropriate, damaging their perfect facade with my jagged, nonchalant responses. So just save us both the worry and don’t interact with me.

Who leaves first? Do I wait until everyone has left and look like one of those weirdly, overly nice people? Or do I wait until someone lets me go? What if no one lets me go? What if my preferred seat (second back on the left, for those that care) is taken?

Then I’m at the back. Who lets who off first then? Do I see a gap and run? What if, due to this act of panic, I trip and fall? God knows I’ll be thinking of this selfish perturbation for the rest of the week if it were to happen…

The last worry to top this journey off… what if I’m departing earlier than the last stop. I have to press that damn stop button.

An unnecessarily loud “ping” notifies everyone to prepare for the huge cow to waddle off. Great. I sit anxiously at the edge of my seat. Prepared. Can’t stand too early, I’ll fall. Can’t wait too long, people will be frustrated with me. I stand up at the perfect time, and proceed in the walk of shame down the walkway.

I step out onto the path. I survived.

Now to cross the road.

Opening up – Can we make this an honest, supportive, strong, safe community?

I post different things on here. Each piece i write is more or less connected to me that the last. What i mean to say is, some pieces are deep and i feel like I’ve poured my soul out onto the page in order to create them. I’ve dug within me to the darkest places, the places people don’t see nor understand, and I’ve shared them. It’s these posts that worry me though. For if people do not like them, in essence they don’t like me. As that post basically is me in writing form.

Other posts i invest less emotion in. Don’t get me wrong i invest in all of my pieces. Some are just general though, conveying anxiety and depression in a way i know most can connect with. Sharing ideas and feelings, that i know most people who read this blog have experienced. The posts where i open up and include personal experiences, (ones that i often hide in my real life) are the issue. I’m not sure so many people can relate to these as they’re not so commonly spoken about.

My “embarrassing” posts shall i call them, as i feel they’re not so acceptable as other topics to discuss, include some pretty awkward facts. They’re unpleasant and sometimes uncomfortable to read. I could write poems to explain how i feel. These other, grittier, real life posts though… they’re truest to me.

If people think I’m wrong for being brutally honest about how depression and anxiety affects me. Well i guess that’s okay, but i don’t think I’m wrong, and judging by the comments I’ve recieved on my previous post… people seem to like this honest approach. I felt so scared about opening up. Fearing that because it’s about things that not everyone talks about when mentioning mental illness. It’s not the obvious sadness and loneliness, it might not be what people feel comfortable reading about.

For so long i have debated. I thought people would think I’m lazy, I’m gross, or plainly just messed up, for both mentioning these topics and also actually experiencing them. I’m going to see the response the more “embarrassing” posts get. Depending on the outcome, I’ll decide whether or not to include posts that tell of my personal experiences more often.

Anyone can feel free to comment whatever they wish. Do not get me wrong I’m not trying to prevent people from having their opinions. I’m not warning people to not comment, infact I’d highly appreciate your input! I simply just need to gauge people’s thoughts on the content i post. I don’t want to share intimate and personal moments, if people aren’t interested. If people would just prefer the more acceptable/relateable content i understand.

It’s just if i can help one person by opening up about something uncomfortable and embarrassing, then I’m okay in doing so. As not only would it help them, it helps me in knowing I’m not alone. I often feel so alienated. Explaining thought processes, and the actions you take due to how your brain functions, is so hard more often than not to explain to everyday people. People that are lucky enough not to have to go through these things every day. The adaptations people who suffer from any mental illness make to be able to survive, and also the sacrifices.

I want this blog to have no feelings of shame, and no negativity… ironic i know since it’s about depression. I mean in the sense of no one will be judged, and if anyone can find help here then I’m happy. I’ve achieved my goal. I don’t want to be ashamed anymore. I’ve lost so many friendships because i couldn’t explain that i need to go to the toilet multiple times before leaving the house, or I’m late because i sat screaming at myself because I’m not normal. I’m different, and i want to try and allow myself to feel comfortable with that. I can make this a safe space where no one has to feel left out. Everybody feels accepted and warrented. We all function differently, we all cope in our own ways and that’s magical. We adapt and survive. It’s beautiful to see how people have soldiered on and come out stronger than ever. All stories and questions are welcome. I want to be able to break down the embarrassment and the feelings of shame we might sometimes feel.

I’ve gone on enough, I’m just passionate about this. I will reply to every comment made on this blog. I want to give myself more purpose. I want to do something good. I also want to help myself, discussing mental health with others who understand is my best way of doing that. So here’s to honesty, safety, comfort, support. I really need a focus in my life and i want this to be it.

I danced with the devil, and i survived.

He lays in wait, sniffing around.

Hidden in the shadows, a blood thirsty hound.

Eluding the darkness is my forte.

Chasing me is the devil’s foreplay.

Each time i battle through his realm.

Injuries occur, with my brain at the helm.

When i darkened his doorstep, i was weak and broken.

Now i arise, wearing his token.

The marks left by his torture tools.

I wear boldy to prove, i broke the rules.

I danced with the devil, and i survived.

I shook hands with death, and I’m still alive.

The “simple” task of bathing.

I know this is going to sound strange, (and i know it’s definitely something i shouldn’t put on the internet), but in my life i have this weird battle with bathing… (yes you read that right) let me explain. You see if I’m really particularly depressed i won’t bathe for a long time. I just can’t do it. I know there’s some of you out there who will understand this. I think i can explain why i have this odd relationship with bathing, but I’m more than aware I’ll sound crazy… (or crazier at least).

Okay so my attempt of explaining goes as follows, i get into this slump where i just can’t face doing anything. Decisions are crushing me from every direction. I smell bad, my bed smells bad, my hair is a horror show. All of this adds to my self hate, and my self worth falls through the floor. The bath is my enemy… this is where it gets weird (if it isn’t already).

I am scared to have a bath, because in my head a bath represents the cleaning of my soul, not just my body. I can sit in that bath i feel refreshed, ready to start anew. However after so long of not bathing i fear it. For doing so, stepping in that water means i can’t dwell and hide, and be a coward anymore. I have to push through, clean off this sadness. Feel the life and freshness of the water. Feel positive and at peace.

I just can’t do that when i feel truly down, because i don’t have the mental capacity to deal with what comes after the bath. Styling my hair, finding new clothes, changing my bed sheets. That’s just the immediate future. As for successfully reintegrating into real life and facing the world, in the days to follow. If you aren’t in the right head space, you can’t possibly comprehend undergoing such pressure… nevermind focusing on keeping positive. If I’m not in the right frame of mind, it just gives me more time to hate myself, a free for all for all the bad thoughts to seep into my naked skin. Then it’s too exhausting and i resent the idea all together.

That being said i feel as though there’s no point in leaving my bed and washing. I’ll bathe and sort myself out, but the next day i won’t have the will power or mental strength to do anything productive. It would just be an endless loop of bathe, bed, bathe, bed. In this instance the bathing part would do nothing for me, it would be forced. Which would be completely detrimental, because it’s often one of the only things that can push me back into the light. As i before mentioned, the idea of it washing away the darkness and sins, releases me into a new day and a new way of life. Until of course the next time i get depressed.

So I’ve rationalised that i need to wait until I’m in the correct mindset. Only then can i get myself out of this rut. To be able to follow up on it, and persevere. This way having a bath actually helps thrust me deeper into that positive frame of mind. Until then i don’t feel worthy of bathing. Only when i feel I’m ready to face things and power through can i allow myself too.

The thing is… once I’m in that mind of, “i can do this, life is well, I’m not going to drown”. I can have so many baths. I want them twice a day sometimes! I cannot identify this as normal behaviour, it is however a behaviour that keeps me on track. Every day that i have a bath, I’m still winning. It’s different from before with the forced baths, when I’m sad. In this instance i desire to bathe, because my whole outlook has changed. The implications in doing so have switched, i no longer associate the bath with negative feelings.

I’m sure this whole post appears as ramblings of a mad person. I’m positive its utterly illogical, but i also know what works for me. I know it’s possibly a terrible way of coping and functioning. The key aspect of it all though is, i am somewhat coping, i think. As for functioning, that’s something we all do in our own special way.

So for me, this is a the story of my never ending conflict of emotions regarding my bath. Sometimes it’s my saviour, sometimes it’s my enemy. It sees the real me, the raw me. It sees my truest self. Fancy that, an object knowing me better than any human. I guess that happens pretty often actually, something inanimate knowing our real fears, moreso than humans. For me it realises my setbacks, and propels me into the world again after being in the darkness for so long, and for now I’m okay with that.