worth it….

one of my dearest friends gave birth yesterday
she brought a beautiful baby girl into the world
and
i’m so proud of her
i’m so happy for her
i’m so in love with that little girl already

but
i’m crying
when she told me she was in labour i felt a stab of pain so sharp
that it took my breath away
because i’m selfish
and jealous
and another person i love is getting everything I want

the thing is once i got my breath back
i prayed that her labour was easy
i prayed for them both to be safe
i was excited.
all i wanted was for them both to be healthy & happy.

when i saw her beautiful little face this afternoon
i cried happy tears
she’s perfect
and her mummy has done the bravest, hardest thing by bringing her into the world
i know how full of love her life is going to be
and
how wonderful her parents are.

we live on different continents
i can’t be there every day
but
i want nothing more than to be a part of this tiny new human’s life
i can’t wait to watch this family grow.

So, yes
i’m self-involved
and
yes, it hurts
but
the hurt isn’t a patch on the joy
idoesn’t touch the thrill of a new life
it cannot dull the pride
Nor dampen the adventure.

there will always be pain
and
it will always be worth it

the huge, expansive love
will never stop being worth it.

i’ve lost control again…

i’m ill
oh, i know, i’m always ill
but it usually ebbs & flows.
i get some respite
i used to have days when i felt i like a normal person
not
anymore.

i’ve been sick every day for months
i’m exhausted
i ache, everywhere
i threw up
a lot.

my body has decided that i am no longer permitted to eat
my weight is plummeting
and
i have no control.

I HAVE NO CONTROL

as a result, i have shut down
because i cannot function without control
with every pound i lose
i feel like my actual self is diminshing
i am just fading away.

i rarely leave the house
i barely move at all
i can’t function
i can’t write
i can’t even cut with any efficacy.

i lack the strength or energy to assert dominance with a scapel
which means i’m lost.
i have to lie down to it
i don’t have any other options.

you took the life right out of me….

yesterday was the 14th anniversary of my due date.
that sentence scares me.
in 14yrs my loss hasn’t become any less painful.
nor do i feel any less alone with it.

each year I try to put plans in place
distraction.
it makes no difference
it always consumes me.

i can’t stop myself from thinking of the landmarks i’ve missed
last night i lay in bed wondering what it would be like to have a teenager sleeping across the hall
would we constantly battling?
would he hate me?
&
need me simultaneously
could i have raised a responsible young man all by myself?
i really think i could.

i think about first words & first steps
playing him the music I love
watching him discover his own musical tastes.
i daydream of trips to parks
sleepovers
fights about how late he is allowed to stay out.

every year is another milestone i don’t experience
another memory i can’t cherish
there is a gaping hole in my life
no
there is a huge hole in me
and
it echoes in everything i do.

with the build up to each anniversary
i hope someone will remember
i want so desperately for someone else to care about my boy
to imagine how he would have enriched our lives
it would mean so much if someone other than me acknowledged his short, short life.
for anyone to want to remember him.

of course, no one does
and
i don’t have the strength to keep reminding people
it’s just another day to them
no one wants to talk about miscarriage
i don’t think my boy is real to them.

so, i usually spend the day alone
often drinking
crying
piecing together what might have been.

T
this year feels worse
i am running out of time
lately, having a baby has been a continuous preoccupation
i need to be mum
i am a mum
i don’t know if this wound can ever be healed
but
hearing a tiny little person call me mummy would start the process.

i can’t replace my darling boy
he’ll always be with me
but
my arms are empty
&
my heart is so full.

 

 

Beyoncé Heartbeat

novocaine for the soul…

I’ve been really ill. I have a virus that my compromised immune system cannot fight off. This virus is kicking my arse. I am constantly exhausted, everything aches, dizzy, cold, nauseous, the works. This has been going on for weeks & I’m at the end of my tether.
Enter, self-harm.
I think perhaps feeling so helpless played a part, but mostly I don’t know what happened.
One cut turned into two turned into me practically dissecting my entire left arm.
I don’t feel anything.
There is no relief
It doesn’t feel right
Or wrong.
Yet, I feel compelled to continue.

The voice in my head that pushes me hurt myself has taken over
It’s not the same voice.
There is no emotional involvement
It is simply an obligation I must meet
I am measuring blood loss
When I reach my target, I may stop.
I don’t know what is happening.
But
I am not afraid.
I feel still.

i’ve looked at life from both sides now…

i have written about my longing for children before.
i’ve known i want a family for a very long time. it has just never been possible.
i was too young
or
too sick
or
too single
i did always mostly believe it would happen.

that hope has been waning for a few years now.
i am 33 years old.
reproductively challenged
single
i have a history or mental & physical health problems
i am certainly not wealthy
the odds are stacked against me.

the desire does not lesson.
as everyone around me begins to start a family
(even those who didn’t think they wanted to)
i feel i am running out of time.
and
i’m scared.

i know i am just another woman with a ticking biological clock
nothing unique
or possibly even interesting in my situation.
the unoriginality of my problem does not diminish the pain.

i find myself increasingly obsessing over my options.
a solution has not presented itself.
i don’t want to imagine my life without little ones of my own
but
i can’t envisage a way to make my family happen.

i have no idea where this post is going
i’ve become so overwhelmed with the gap between my needs & my reality that it has just spilt out.
i am bursting with maternal instinct.
i’m ready.
i am so ready.

i’ve tried everything….

i have fallen into another slump.
i rarely know why this happens.
occasionally there are clear reasons for my depression worsening.
but, not this time.

life is struggle at moment
the urge to harm myself is overpowering
i am told the desire will leave me
i continue to wait for that peace.

in the mean time I try to live
i feel as though there is something inside me trying to break out
i can’t relax
it is impossible to just be.

i have resorted to doing, doing, doing
i do housework every morning.
i’ve cleaned out drawers & cupboards
organised my wardrobe
i’ve scrubbed every surface in the house
everything I eat is cooked from scratch
i bake
the next three months have been budgeted
i am keeping a detailed food diary
my life has never been so regimented.

i force myself to socialise
close friends are invited for dinner
i see films with my sister
plans are made with friends in other cities
i volunteer
i’m reading voraciously
my writing output has gathered pace
self-manicures have become works of art
my hair is styled, my legs are smooth.

from the outside i seem to be doing great.
my productivity has soared.
i appear to be creating order.

the truth is my drive is desperation.
a constant need to escape an unbearable internal chasm
if I don’t keep moving
i will butcher myself.
my increasingly despairing attempts to grasp control are failing.
i am left sore
&
sad
&
exhausted.

i long to curl up in my bed and hide
but
my spiteful inner voice will not allow it
there is a constant coaxing to shed my blood,
a continuous stream of gory images.
all accompanied by heavy hopelessness
&
the suffocating knowledge that it will return.
no matter how much progress I make
or
what heights of contentment I reach
i will feel this way again.

what a difference a year makes…

last year I met a nice man.
he was attentive, intelligent, funny & well read.
i found him attractive.
perfect, I hear you say.

no

i rejected him in favour or rather difficult man i met around the same time.
the man I picked was selfish & uncompromising.
even in bed.
it did not last.

I
i’ve talked about this with various people.
my therapist, my best friends, my mum & sister
all of whom, agreed that i had a bit of habit of selecting inappropriate men.
i did not disagree.

what I needed to know was why?
further discussion & some introspection brought the answers to the surface.

that nice man was too nice.
i was suspicious of his apparent loveliness,
i didn’t believe that it was real.
surely, his best behaviour would dissipate
&
i’d be left disappointed.
more worryingly, i was not convinced that i deserved this nice man.
i have never been with someone who gives me what i need.
there is always a catch,
a perpetual shortfall.
the idea that i had met someone i could relax & possibly be happy with frightened me
it’s hard for me to think i am entitled to that sort of contentment.

i’m not worthy
and
he was bound to discover that fairly quickly.
how long before my craziness, disability & general not good enoughness was uncovered?
how long before i was rejected?

so, you see,
liking this nice man was just too risky.
it could only end badly.

he could be a fraud
&
i would be disappointed.

he could recognise what a sub-standard person i was
&
i would be rejected.

either way it was too dangerous.
getting close to man who may actually be possible of meeting my desires was too threatening.
it was easier to choose men who never could.
relationships with built in obsolescence could not hurt me.
i always knew it would end
& therefore never become emotionally attached.
i’m sure you can see the problem with that.

Earlier this year, he got in touch.

just to say hi.
we talked for a few weeks.
i remembered how enjoyable conversing with him was.
we decided to meet
&
this time, I am allowing myself to hope that maybe I do deserve this.
perhaps happiness is within my reach.

it’s very early days.
we’re enjoying each other’s company.
who knows what may happen.
the important thing is I am open to the possibilities.

don’t patronise me….

I didn’t sleep last night. I’ve been in a fair bit of pain & my stomach hasn’t been behaving. My mood hasn’t really been behaving either. It took a dive earlier in the week for unspecified reasons. Perhaps feeling so sick has had an impact or maybe it’s just my head being a dick. Who can say?

On account of the above I slept late. Dragging myself out of bed was a struggle, but I did it. Mainly because I am currently dog sitting & no matter how shit I feel, not walking a dog is cruel. So, up I got, flung on whatever clothes were lying on the bedroom floor, brushed my teeth & took that pup for the longest walk I could manage. I did these not because they would lift my mood. Nor did I do them as part of an ‘action plan’. I didn’t derive any sense of achievement. They needed to be done, so I did them.

Later, my stomach had calmed down. I hadn’t eaten all day & was hungry. My fridge contained half an aubergine that had to be used today or it would only be fit for the bin. These factors combined led to me make some vegetable moussaka. I didn’t cook because it would make me feel that I was worth taking care of. I simply used the ingredients available to feed myself because otherwise, I would not eat.

I tell you these things not because they are interesting. I certainly don’t mention them because I want applause. I merely draw your attention to these mundane activities as they are the reality of day to day life.

THEY ARE NOT SELF CARE.

Mental health organisations & patronising individuals are constantly spouting the merits of self-care. I am so tired of hearing this bullshit. Everything I do does not have a therapeutic purpose. Mental illness (or for that matter physical) does not define me. I am a single woman living alone. There are always tasks that need taken care of. I take each day as it comes & do as much as I can manage. That’s just survival. In that respect I am no different from anyone else.

Obviously my illness can make simple jobs difficult. Things the average person may take for granted come harder to me. That doesn’t change the nature of life. I either keep living to best of my ability or I lie down and die.
To label each chore or treat self-care is to rob me of my basic humanity. I am no longer a person, but a collection of diagnoses. Mental illness becomes my defining feature. I strenuously reject that characterisation. To measure my wellbeing by how many dishes are in my sink is insulting. Similarly, to minimise serious conditions by suggesting a nice dinner will make it all better is also offensive.

I live my life as fully as possibly. I enjoy whatever I can and try my best to endure the rest. Doesn’t that sum up most people’s experience? I don’t hear anyone congratulating ‘non-mentals’ for continuing to exist, so why are they patronising me?

I’ve looked at life from both sides now….

I haven’t written in a while. I’m not entirely sure why that is. I seem able to write other more frivolous things, but any deep introspection eludes me.
I am volunteering again. A project I really believe in. it gives me a sense of purpose. I know I shouldn’t need to find worth outside of myself, but I do. I suspect if they were honest, most folk have a similar struggle for validity.

My body continues to malfunction in a variety of ways. Planning is redundant. Where I can go & what I do is ruled by my ability to manage symptoms. I am the queen of cancelling. I am so tired of disappointing others & myself.

My head is a mystery to me. There are days when I feel I am making huge leaps. Future aspirations bloom, hope is palpable. And then for no concrete reason I plummet. Days seeped in grey merge into one another. Life becomes a featureless landscape of withdrawal or a frenzy of anxiety.

Self-harm is never far from my thoughts. I am not actively hurting myself, but I still believe that is the true me. I am forever searching for a way to hurt enough & still function. I can’t begin to find the words to describe how it feels to daily fight your most ingrained instincts. In so many ways I am broken, I honestly don’t know if the damage is irrevocable.

A&E conversations with the man.