circles and cycles and seasons.

After living out of suitcase for the last however many months, I am finally posting this from my own bed, in my own apartment, in the beautiful North London location that I am now calling home.

Home. It's a funny word. I haven't felt like I've belonged anywhere for so long. Months and months. My house that I lived in before I went into hospital, that's been my home for the last twenty years of my life felt alien to me. I couldn't settle, I couldn't breathe. The city I used to live in felt impossible to live with. Fragments of the ill version of me are scattered everywhere, I was stumbling over ghosts and heartache and loneliness. So I made the decision to stay in London where my treatment was and set myself up from pretty much rock bottom.

Eleven months and one day ago, I tried to take my own life. Eleven months and one day later and I thank every fibre of the universe that I wasn't successful.

It's been a year of learning, of making mistakes, of piecing parts of myself back together, of loss, but also of tremendous gain.

I have gained a small amount of wisdom, a huge amount of weight. I became a healthy weight with the help of the hospital, and then I made the brave/stupid (it depends which day you ask me) decision to 'sacrifice' my idea of the 'perfect' weight and to disappear into skin and bone, to go onto a large number of different medications that would cause weight gain, but stabilise the mood swings, the dark moods, the suicidal thoughts. Today is a day where I think it was brave.

Last night, I didn't. I punished myself for it. I stumbled, and I gave in to the self harm thoughts for the first time in so many months, and it felt so good. But then it felt everything it should have felt; unnatural, wrong, and something I absolutely should not be doing. I could see that there was a way through it all, without having to hurt myself. I felt that tiny ounce of self esteem that has been growing inside of me, come through and start to help me fight for what is important, me.

I've become more and more at ease as the last few months have gone on. I have been introduced to the most incredible people who have become my family, and who make each day that little bit easier. It's a cliche, but I have got the most amazing people in my life right now. People whom I adore, and who make me feel like I am worth something, who make me feel loved and accepted. People who are seeing me at my highest weight and who still love me and go out of their way to make sure I'm okay and happy.

I've never felt part of a family (with one very special exception) or that I was someone who actually mattered amongst a group of friends, and now, I feel like I've found my place amongst some truly wonderful, big hearted, beautiful people, and I'm lucky enough to call them my friends.

There is still so much to learn and to gain, I don't feel so alone in life anymore, and that makes this whole recovery thing a lot more manageable. Small steps eventually get you somewhere, and I'm getting there, slowly. As for what I lost, nothing is lost forever, even the pieces that I treasured the most are slowly making their way back into my orbit.

shadow won't let it in.

"Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night."


Suicide. Depression. It has been all over the news for over a week now. We lost a legend, he took his own life and the world is undoubtedly less of a place without him. Whilst I was incredibly sad to see the actor that I grew up watching had taken his life, I was equally as upset by the comments people were making in regards to his actions, most of them I wont even waste the energy to type, but so much of what I saw on the internet was that people perceived his actions as selfish.

I am not naive enough to assume that everybody is educated on mental illness. I am not naive enough to assume that there is a universal opinion opinion on depression and other mental illnesses. I understand that to a lot of people, the concept that somebody who had a family that loved them and seemingly everything to live for could take their own life is incomprehensible, I understand that, I do. It is only through educating and discussion that the understanding of what could lead a person to take their own life, despite having external factors that, on paper, should be adding to their life. The last ten days have been incredibly triggering for me, I have been having some incredibly dark thoughts about my own failed suicide attempts, and I feel like discussing it a little more may help my mind let go some of what has been consuming me so fiercely.

I am not supporting suicide at all. I have myself seen people I have cared about take their own lives. The feeling that you are left with is indescribable. To think you could have picked up on a sign or even said something differently, you replay every single conversation that you had with them and with a fine tooth comb, search for something, anything, that could have signalled it; a misplaced sigh, a tone of voice, anything. The people who are left behind, if any, are as much a victim as the person who has gone, and I do not at all discount their pain or suffering.

Depression is a horrible, horrible disease. It creeps into your mind and steals the very essence of you. It obliterates the parts of you that feel joy, that is able to comprehend any emotion or reality outside of what you are currently feeling. It is as though someone has turned the brightness down on the world; everything is bleak, feeling becomes a thing of the past, and if you have moments where you can feel; it's extreme sadness and the pure and utter self loathing and hatred. You are noting. You are worthless. You are a waste of space. You do not deserve to be breathing in the air that you are breathing in. You are redundant. You are a disgrace to humanity.

Love unfortunately is not enough. It doesn't matter if there are people who love you, and it doesn't matter if you have 'things to live for' there is a disease inside your brain that is distorting your reality and causing an inherent lack of rational understanding or decision making. Your mind could be telling you that the sky is green, and when you glance at the sky to check; it's blue, but that doesn't matter, because the more your mind tells you that it's green, the more it becomes green when you look at it.

The mind is a weapon of destruction. Depression is cruel, and callous and takes no prisoners. It doesn't care how much money you have or how many people love you, if it wants you, it will get you. For some it's relatively minor and for some it is crippling and soul destroying.

When you are floating in oblivion, robbed of all of your senses, all of the parts that make you who you were, numbed of anything but insurmountable pain, it is hard to lift your head off your pillow each morning. There are silent warriors amongst us, who despite all of that, can put one foot in front of the other and function enough to get through a day. Some are able to fight it, some are able to reach out and ask for help, some are lucky enough to have people that are able to see their suffering and get help.

But for some people, in one moment, taking their life is an option that is put on the table in front of them, and it only takes that one moment that that option crosses their mind for them to take it.

For myself, I was in an extreme amount of pain and I couldn't take it anymore, I was flicking between pain and numbness and both of them felt too hard for me to be able to endure any longer, and my mind told me over and over again that there was a way for me to relieve myself of all of that and to be unburdened, and I tried. Twice. Thankfully for me, I failed and have been in treatment since, but some people aren't given the help that I was lucky enough to receive and still be receiving now. 

So please, the next time that you call someone selfish for taking their own life, just remember that depression is all consuming, it takes you from the inside out, there is very little that the mind is able to grasp outside of the internal suffering. It's a very selfish illness in terms of the fact that it focuses on the person and only that person, it's not a choice. It tells you how much you have failed as human being, how much you deserve to be suffering, how awful you are... With every single second of the day, there is very little time when a person isn't suffering, whether it is with feelings of nothingness, or feelings of despair. There is no future; just now, just what you are feeling. You are in a bubble whilst life carries on around you and without you. 

Being loved and loving other people doesn't make you immune from it. It doesn't make you a failure as parent/child/spouse/friend/whatever, you can be so loved, yet so deeply aching inside. Just because the person has children, doesn't mean that the love they have for their kids isn't there, absolutely not. 

Depression extinguishes the human spirit, but it can be overcome. There is help available out there, and there are people who want to listen and help you. Even if it's just me, through my blog posts, I care that you are alive. 

I recently watched a video made by Matt Ganley (which actually inspired this post) in which he says that we are in an era where by we are able to have the insight for compassion, and be concerned with human flourishing and human well being, understanding and empathy. And he is so right, our generation is a lot more willing to try to understand others. We can use technology to say whatever we want, and people are becoming more in tune to mental illness and we can use social media to help talk about it and eradicate the stigmas and misconceptions that generations before us created. All it takes is one conversation with one other person, it may make all the difference in the world for another human being. 

(US) National Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 1–800–273-TALK (8255)

• (UK)  Samaritans - 08457 90 90 90 
• International Association for Suicide Prevention

To Write Love On Her Arms

Love is Louder

Half of Us

beat (for eating disorders)

Matt Ganley's video that inspired this post is here at  http://youtu.be/ySg6nnxZdqE 

some kind of wonderful .

“The obliterated place is equal parts destruction and creation. The obliterated place is pitch black and bright light. It is water and parched earth. It is mud and it is manna. The real work of deep grief is making a home there.”

Rebuilding yourself is hard. When you have been living with your self destruct button firmly switched on for the last decade of your life, there comes a point where it switches off and the dust around you settles for a few moments and allows you to take in a new reality. You stand around in a hazy mist of stillness and realise that, amongst all of these ruins of negative thoughts and rules that have controlled you for so long, there is a person in the midst of it all. A person who was taken over and manipulated by a disease to become merely a shadow of who they really once were. Once the depression becomes manageable, and the negative thoughts begin to slowly become less automatic, a space begins to clear up inside of your mind where the real you has been suppressed. 

It's terrifying. My reality has completely been altered. For so long, I was plagued with thoughts of self loathing, I lived by core beliefs and values that were all my illness, not me. I wasn't a person, I was an illness. 

My sense of identity was lost entirely. I didn't value myself at all, I hated myself. I had no self worth and measured it entirely by how much I weighed, or my ability to restrict my food intake. I could talk about the "reality" that my illness created both for me, and inside of me, but that isn't where I am now. I am in a state of repair, and healing, and I want to write about that. 

A very wise person told me "It takes so much courage to confront our challenges and insecurities and you are proving that we never have to let these take over our lives." I realised she was right. It does take courage to confront those. An enormous amount of courage, that nobody in recovery (in my experience) ever seems to give themselves credit for. I was so focussed on what I could or should be doing that I lost sight of what I was actually doing and that I wasn't actually letting this take over my life anymore. That in itself is a huge achievement, to pull yourself up from rock bottom, ask for help and give every single piece of yourself to getting better and building yourself into a healthy person again? I think that is possibly one of the bravest things that a person can do, and I did that. 

I am learning who I am and experiencing things without the illness, without a barrage of thoughts telling me that I am not worthy or good enough for anything in life. I am learning what interests me, what I can derive enjoyment and pleasure from and I can feel unadulterated joy without rhyme or reason. 

I am only in the "building the foundations" stage of recovery, letting the real me emerge out of the darkness and be free to think and feel as myself. There is so much work to do each and every day, but I have a small sense of self worth inside of me now. I am enough, and that is enough for now. 

the price of love is loss.

There is an enormous amount of love in the world. I think if we were to really look at humanity, look back at important events throughout history and the present, one thing that would stand out is love. It's out there, it's always been out there, but sometimes it can be really hard to find. We are a species that create war, who kill, who discriminate, who abuse, who hate. But we are also a species that has love in abundance. You look at tragic events in history, or even just in the news, and one thing that you won't hear about is a lack of love or the lack of an outpouring of help and community that derives from that. I've seen it over and over again first hand.

 Maybe that's why I am the way I am. I wouldn't quite classify a pessimist, I'm trying to bring myself out of that way of being (as hard as it is) I would like to be an optimistic person in everything. I'd like to say one day that I am an optimist, but I've had simply too many bad things happen to me again and again to have the mentality of an optimist instilled in me over a short amount of time But I am happy to say I am trying, and my god, I've seen some pretty amazing things.

For all the negative in my life, there is a positive that outweighs it. Control is outweighed by love. As simple as. I am at a place right this second where I'm perplexed and amazed at myself. Something has happened, and I'm too tired to go into it. But it's a negative force that has hit me many, many times. Now go back 6 months, and what has happened would have affected me so badly that I can guarantee you, I would have stopped eating because of it. I would have let the words stick with me, I'd have scrutinised every single meaning behind them and punished myself. Badly. I'd have been unable to see past them. I'd have replayed the words over and over again, getting more upset and agitated each time. I'd have let them get to me so badly that I would believe they were a truth, I'd believe that the mindset caused by them was "normal" and I'd have allowed my control and my self worth to slip. I would have believed I was a failure, I was this ridiculous, inane, pathetic excuse of a human and that would have been the tipping point for me. What was once a huge trigger, is no more. 

I need to attempt to keep reminding myself that I am a good person. I am a kind person. I am a worthy person. I'm fragile, I shouldn't be punished for simply stumbling as I move forwards.  I need to really believe that. 

There are people out there who choose to be my family. Who choose to love me. Who choose to be there for me. Who choose to pick me up when I fall, hold my hand whilst I stumble, and bask in the joy alongside me when I feel it. They are the people that count. They are the ones who mean the most, who have furthered me along in this incredible journey. It's down to them that I am here now. One of them sent me this beautiful poem in the week;

The sun will shine tomorrow

The rain will somehow end

This is not only a promise

It’s just the way it is

Bad times don’t last forever

The tough times they never stay

The heartache and the let down

Will soon go away

In times of deep sadness

The pain is all too real

And it’s hard to believe

That with time the hurt will heal

The dark clouds that hang above

Will eventually move on

And the storms that dance around

Will soon be gone

Stay strong and keep in mind

That again, the sun will shine

Isn't that beautiful? I am so grateful that there are people looking out for me and who think to send me beautiful things like that. 

My outlook changes each day, some days I feel like giving up, but today, I have felt so in control and so overwhelmed at the love for me that I am proud of myself. And others are proud of me too. People I love being proud of me for good reasons is incredible. 

all at once my heart took flight.

Sometimes, I forget that my mind is constantly at war with itself. The white noise very quickly became a normality to me, and scrutinising every thought and every interaction, and the constant self criticism became a part of daily life. I fought, but I never won the battle, let alone the war. There was always some part of me that could not get out, no matter how hard I tried to swim, the current of fragmented, disordered thinking patterns and behaviour held me under. 

When I can have these tiny, fleeting moments of joy, the noise inside my mind stops. The self criticism and doubt, the black and white thinking, the pain... It all just temporary subsides and and something else is begins to filter through for a brief moment. It's taking a huge gasp of breath and breathing life into you. 

It's like the feeling of finally getting water after days in the desert, it's like being wrapped up in a warm blanket after getting soaked from the rain, it's like finally you're warm inside, your brain quietens down and your mind, body and soul are able to soak up positivity. Sometimes, it's just for a few seconds, but my god, those seconds are worth it. I revel in each and every second. I live those moments, I let them in, I let them in through every pore in my body, I live them with every fibre of my being. They are the moments that make this battle less treacherous.

Sometimes it is impossible to see beyond the sadness and the pain. When there is a voice constantly in your head telling you that you are nothing, nobody, that you are a burden to everybody around you, that you deserve the pain you feel, that you should be punishing yourself for simply existing, and that you would be better off dead, it's incredibly hard to block out. But just getting a few moments of relief from that, for muting the voice, and letting happiness in, creates a volume switch in your brain. You are able to turn the volume of the voice down slightly, even by a fraction. One good moment can set a series of doubts to what that voice is telling you. The more you get, the more you start to realise that the voice isn't telling you the truth. You are worthy. 

I can't feel love because of that voice. I can barely feel anything at all, and when I did feel, all I felt was sadness, pain, self loathing and shame. 

I have had the most incredible few days in the last week, where I have actually felt joy.  My intake of love is increasing by the day. 

it's cloud illusions I recall.

I always seem to accidentally  preempt bad days by talking about the good ones (though I'm not going to let that stop me) today was a bad day.

I had another slip up. When you wake up with low self esteem and feeling like the world is pretty much against you, it's almost impossible to change your outlook. No amount of CBT tricks can override that feeling for me. I just have to roll with it. So I did, I hauled myself out of bed, endured a panic attack, faced the struggle of doing my make up and hair with one hand (I had to take a trip to A&E yesterday due to an accident at work which has damaged the nerves in my little finger so it's strapped to another finger and pretty much immobile) and made my way to work.

I can sense when it's one of those days that won't really get better, unless a miracle comes along, so I try not to push anything too far. I did some meditation, I took my valium on the train, I listened to music, I didn't rush, I went at my own pace, and I thought about all of the positives in my life.

I had potential things to look forward to after work, if not the following day, and also on Tuesday. I thought if I focus on them if trying to "be present" didn't work as well as it could, then I'd be okay.

Over the few hours I was in work, my skin got thinner and thinner. My self loathing grew larger and larger. It was like I was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, any second I was just going to erupt and the tears would come and wouldn't stop.

Thankfully, they held back until I'd at least finished work. Then, not long after, sure enough, I was walking through my town's city centre and I had never felt more alone. I felt unwanted. I felt like I was nobody.  I felt like I was some kind of monster for being so difficult and such hard work to love. I felt like everybody was staring at me, pitying me. I thought about how my illness has affected me, how my life is so different to other people my own age. What a failure I've been. How I wasn't even able to finish my A Levels because of my illnesses. How I am too sensitive and how I let myself upset over the most innate of things. 

I spent my entire bus journey quietly sobbing. Gaining even more unwanted attention. I just listened to "Glory and Gore" by Lorde and prayed to God that I would be home as quickly as possible.

Thankfully I was, but I was so angry at myself for being so self loathing and sensitive and just annoying. So I went and threw up. And it felt great. It felt like I finally had some kind of control over what I was feeling for the first time all day.

But then the guilt hit me. It hit me hard. I felt disgusted with myself. I felt so terrible that I'd allowed myself to "give in" I just cried even more and I could feel a vicious cycle coming on. So I just got into bed and I slept. 

I feel so much lighter now. So much clearer. The fog that I woke up with wrapped around my brain, has gone, and I feel like myself again. 

I got myself out of it as quick as I got myself into it. It's something I now have proof of, I can do it, however rapidly I'm spiralling, I can change my course. It is possible. When I'm bad, my mind keeps me in this illusion of an infinite dark sky where there's never any cracks for the sunlight to get in. But that isn't true, and once I'm able to show myself that is not true, and what I'm feeling is just an illusion my brain is playing on me, I can make my way through. 

the winds of change are blowing wild and free.

A sweeping sense of solitude has washed over me. There are moments of pure unadulterated clarity, where I see myself as a "survivor" someone who is overcoming demons that have haunted me for too long, someone making their way towards the light. But then there are moments, like today, where I just pull the panic cord and go into a complete state of "but why?" every single one of my senses are heightened and my mind turns into an emergency check point, combing through every little detail of anything that passes through it, scrutinising it down to it's very last inch, checking it over and over to make sure I didn't miss anything.

You get stuck in this infinite state of questioning. Not just questioning where you are and how you got there, but why you feel the way you feel and why certain people arouse such a variety of emotions within you. There is never an answer. There is always another "but why?" to any form of answer you can derive.

I will not apologise for the fact that peoples actions and behaviours have caused a subconscious series of emotions and behaviours that are triggered when I am in their presence. It's not something to criticise or tell me to "snap out of" it isn't that simple and I'm working through it. But they didn't come from nowhere, sometimes the harder people try to help in their own way, the worse they make a situation. 

I have faced let down after let down, I haven't even had any kind of expectation with regards to certain people, because I get lulled into a false sense of security that maybe, just maybe, this time they may have changed. But then, there they go again and let me down all over again. Except I told myself I wouldn't get let down, because I was anticipating it, it was to be expected. But it still hurts each and every time, no matter how much you anticipate it. 

I am a strong believer that people can change. I can see change within myself daily, I like to give people a chance, because I would like to think that people would give me one too. I know how hard I can be sometimes, how difficult and exhausting I can be, I'd like to think that if I let someone down when I was in one of my "episodes" that they would be understanding and would be willing to give me a second chance. "Treat others the way you wish to be treated", isn't that how the saying goes? I think for me, there is some element of that in how I go about my daily life. But I also think that we all have an obligation, as human beings, to show care and love to the people around us. Those deserving of it. It doesn't take a lot of energy to be kind to someone. Showing kindness to somebody you care about, or love, should be a reflex, it shouldn't be something that seems like too much hard work. 

It's taking me a long time, and a lot of therapy, to at least recognise that loving somebody and pleasing somebody isn't the same thing. They do not go hand in hand. Trying to constantly please somebody and adhere to what they want, isn't love. You can love somebody and not constantly alter yourself or what makes you happy to try to please them. You cannot please everybody, I have to train myself to stop trying to please certain people or worry about other people's judgements. You just have to please and look after yourself. As long as you aren't hurting yourself or others, it's okay. If other people don't like it? Tough. It's still taking me a really long time to distinguish it, but I think I'm getting there. It's not being selfish, it's not loving those people any less, it's knowing more about who you are and what makes you happy and not letting others dictate your happiness and control what you do.

We're all unique. We don't all occupy the same brain, the same heart, the same religion, or have the same principals or beliefs. Some people look down on what they don't understand, but all we can do is help them understand, we can show them what we feel, what we think, we can talk about it, put it out there. People have a right to disagree with you, but they do not have the right to make you feel inferior for whatever you do (as long as no harm is being caused to anybody) 

I don't know where life will take me, where my mind will take me, which days will be bad days, which days will be good days, which side effects my next lot of meds will bring me, which path of treatment I am headed onto next. But what I do know is that I can get through it. I can fight against the current and win. Even when I feel like I can't, I know that I was in a much darker place twelve months ago and I made it through those. 

Sometimes the people that help us the most aren't the people you expect. Sometimes it's hard for other people around you to understand that despite the fact they're your parent/family/spouse/lover/sibling whatever, they aren't necessarily the person that can fix you. I'm sure it must be a hard thing to deal with, especially when all they want to do is help. 

But at the end of the day, the only person who can really fix you, is you. Some are lucky enough to find somebody along the way, in whatever form of love, that mends our broken parts. That helps fix you, that provides strength as you become the glue as you piece yourself back together. If you have somebody in your life who is as instrumental in your recovery, please, treat them well, let them know that they too are loved and that you are so grateful for them. 

Sometimes people come along once you've started doing the repair job. I've seen it happen first hand. Nobody is ever alone in recovery, in putting themselves back together. There is always support out there, even if it's through a computer, there are still people who want to help you and love you, and help glue you back together. Even if it's just through listening. 

Here are some useful numbers and links: 

(US) National Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 1–800–273-TALK (8255)

• (UK)  Samaritans - 08457 90 90 90 
• (ROI) Samaritans -  1850 60 90 90 

International Association for Suicide Prevention

To Write Love On Her Arms

Love is Louder

Half of Us

Beat (for eating disorders)

black and white begins to colour in.

"Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life." 

My mind is a maze. To me, if I'm not the perfect person, perfect at everything I do, then in my mind, I'm a bad person, I'm a failure and deserve to be punished. There's no in between for me. One mistake, no matter how trivial, means that I'm a terrible person and can't live with myself.

There is no in between with how I react to things. It's either a complete overreaction; sobbing, hysteria, shouting, screaming. Or nothing. There's no middle ground. I can't just take something on board, I have to run through every single "bad" scenario possible and then freak out over all of these imaginary scenarios. It's so unhealthy and it's something that I wasn't really aware of until today. I knew I overreacted a lot, but I never really looked at how or why. 

The last few days have hurt my heart a lot. But I think I'm better for it. I'm trying to tell myself that pretending that I'm okay brings a whole new series of problems, it affects every state of my being, it penetrates through to my relationships. It puts too much pressure on those who love me and it leaves them at a loss. Pretending I'm okay brings a whole new cycle of behaviours that have been brought to light to me that I didn't even know existed. When you're so busy putting up a mask, you don't think of the domino effect that it has on your behaviours and emotions. As long as you're pretending that you're okay, it doesn't matter. But it does.

I  have been told of the behaviours that I've been displaying, I know need to stop pretending that I'm okay and look at all of the issues that pretending that I'm okay causes for me and the people closest to me.

My behaviour has caused resentment and dislike towards me by people that I adore and who love me and all it makes me want to do is drop my "mask" and just focus on everything that comes about because I have that mask up. It's been so ingrained in me for so long because I've spent so long pretending I'm okay that I've never noticed or been shown the ramifications of what that does.

Mood altering medications do exactly what they say; they alter your moods, they can make you more low, they can bring you up, they can cause suicidal thoughts, they can do a lot of stuff. But I don't solely blame those, I blame the fact I've spent so long trying to keep this mask on - even to those closest to me who I tell virtually everything to, I keep some stuff hidden from them to not cause them worry or pain - that I've failed to see what that has done to me, my behaviour, my thinking and what it's done to those around me. And this isn't something new, this has been ongoing for years.

But how do you just stop pretending and and actually really face up to what you're going through 100% without breaking down and letting it win? I don't know. 

the darkness in which I swim.

catch me, i'm falling.

I hate myself. 

What is so wrong with me that I have to always do or say the wrong thing. Why can I never do anything right in my life? Why do I have to be so sensitive about every single thing? Why do I manage to annoy everybody all the time? Why am I such a burden? Why am I even here? 

Why have I let something out of my control make me so upset and angry? I cannot process these emotions quickly, it takes me a long time and whilst I'm feeling that I then have all of these "sub emotions" that come into play; irrationality, self loathing, paranoia, anxiety, and so many more. It doesn't take a simple "deep breaths" for me to stop feeling these things and understand why I felt them, it can take me hours.  This is what I call "the danger zone" it's when I react to those emotions without caution, or without thinking about the repercussions  I cut, I purge, I go to some very dark places and it takes me a very long time to get out of that danger zone.

I've been in that danger zone now for seven and a half hours. There has been no light yet. I've felt incredibly alone and isolated, through nobody's fault, and I've quite literally had to sit on my hands for a large portion of the night to prevent myself from hurting myself. 

I've had panic attack after panic attack. I' I'm like a wrecking ball. I've gained all this momentum and I can't stop. Where does it end? When will it end? 

Bad days can change everything. They can set you back. I'm trying, I'm really trying. I want to keep moving forward, I need to keep moving forward. Help. 

there's a grief that can't be spoken.

I've been staring at an empty page for a while now trying to think of a  profound, or beautiful way to put what I want to say but I think the only way I can do this justice is to just say exactly what I feel. Raw emotions, no edits, no glossing feelings over to make me look slightly less unhinged. What I'm writing is straight from the empty space where piece of my heart - that was taken away from me six years ago - used to be.

At the age of seventeen, I'd lost quite a number of people to death. But none of them could prepare me for the biggest loss of my life. There isn't a manual to tell you how to grieve, or how to cope with the loss of a loved one. I wish there was, it would make life so much easier. But that's life isn't it? Experiencing life and experiencing death. 

Nothing could have prepared me, it wasn't an expected death, not that I think that makes it any easier. No amount of time or words would have relieved or numbed the pain even in the slightest fraction. 

We spent an excruciatingly long night camped out in a tiny relatives room on 3 small sofas praying for a miracle, for the medicine to work, for anything.

But no amount of praying or wishing or hoping could have changed the outcome, the next morning, the words "there's nothing more we can do" were spoken, and the world that I knew was altered forever.

They removed the monitors and machinery keeping him alive and I held his hand and whispered in his ear. I can still feel his hand, how it felt that morning. It was different to every other time I had held his hand, this time it was lifeless, it still dwarfed my tiny hands and I knew this was the last time I was ever going to see him alive and feel the complete security and warmth that I felt every time that I grabbed his hand.

It didn't take very long, I suppose it never does. You remove the machine keeping the body alive, because the  body can't keep itself alive, and it's a waiting game of how long it can sustain itself before finally giving in. It was twenty minutes or so. I say it wasn't enough, but what amount of time would have been enough? 

I felt it instantly, a gaping hole was punched through my chest, my legs were no longer able to hold me and I fell to the floor. I'm still there now. 

I can visualise it all as though it was yesterday. And it does feel like yesterday, sometimes I hate the way my brain holds onto every painful detail, it makes the flashbacks and nightmares a lot more hard to recover from.

The pain in my chest that he left has become a normal sensation now. I don't think it will ever disappear. It aches, it burns, it hurts. This is my life now, a world in which he doesn't exist. 

It was an indescribable loss and I'm not going to sit here and try and find a collection of words that can't  even remotely articulate the emotions correctly.

One thing I can say, is that there have been times when I have felt his presence around me. As ridiculous as that may sound, there are times when I've sense him behind me, or in the room with me. His scent floods my senses and I'm immediately comforted. There was even a period of time when I felt something sit on the end of my bed each night and move a framed photograph of him and I next to my bed from another side of the room. Make of that what you will. But I take that as a sign that he still walks beside me. He may not be physically present, but for as long as I am living, he remains at my side, in my heart, and in my soul. 

I wish I could attest that "time heals everything" maybe it does. Time, that little paradox; running out by the second but on an indefinite infinite span. I have yet to be healed by time. But I have hope that I will. 

So, as we approach the night that six years ago changed my life forever. I am trying my hardest to remember the wonderful, beautiful, loving, inspirational person that he was. Not the huge gap that he left behind. I am who I am because he loved me, he taught me, he shaped me, he made me soar, and he was there when I fell.  

a lack of colour.

An excerpt from my journal from earlier this year; 

I feel that trying to describe depression can be the hardest task. Pair it with trying to describe the grip that eating disorders hold over you and how body dysmorphia prevents you from seeing reality staring back at you in the mirror, then the act of being "okay" when someone asks "how are you?" is a much easier and tangible option.  

My mind is vast. My moods are rapid. My thoughts are scattered. I have likened them to a black and white kaleidoscope*. They merge, they alter, they separate.  

*I say black and white because I associate kaleidoscopes with exuberant colour, whereas my thoughts are worlds away from beautiful merging colours.  

My world is black and white. My thoughts are black and white. All or nothing. No way but one way; one way traffic, a dead end street. Incredibly wonderful or excruciatingly terrible. No middle ground, no grey area, no white noise. 

Colourless is a reality. Dark thoughts. Sadness. Pain. Numb. Hurt. Suffering. Even the adjectives themselves juxtapose bright, vibrant colours.  

My moods are low and my mindset is bleak. I distort rationality into irrationality. I hate what I see when I see myself. I feel empty, sad, and at times; numb.  

There is a roadblock stopping me, paralysing me, not allowing me to do simple things, like get out of bed. The anxiety crushes my chest, weighs me down. I am pinned down by depression like a caged bird, unable to break free, but able to see everything and everyone moving around me.  

I get glimmers of colour. Like the early morning rays of sun creeping into the windows and illuminating the specks of dust that, without that light, would remain unnoticed, invisible. I cherish that light. I revel in the colour. 

I long for the days when they stay and are not fleeting and sparse. I cannot wait for those days, I cannot wait for recovery. 

Some days when I am at my worst, I cannot see beyond that day, but when I am out of it, I can look back and smile and say "I made it through. the darkness slowly started to colour in and I'm back on my feet, even if it's just for today, I made it."

I live for the good days. 

inside my mind, behind my mask.

What you see isn't always what you get. 

When people look at me, they'll see a happy, bubbly, chatty person. That couldn't be further from the truth. 

For the last 8 years I have been battling anorexia, bulimia, severe depression, body dysmorphia, crippling anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, mood swings amongst many other things. My official diagnosis is "Emotional Instability Disorder" also known as "Borderline Personality Disorder" 

Sometimes I feel like I'm living a double life. I wear a mask when I'm out in public, or at work. A mask that smiles and looks like nothing is wrong. But a mask is just a mask and eventually the mask comes off.

I have tried cocktails of different meds to try and stabilise my moods and to raise the seretonin levels in my brain.  Unfortunately, all of these have only been temporary.

I am currently facing the familiar feeling that I've faced before, where my current antidepressant begins to lose it's effectiveness and starts to plateau out, and when that happens, my moods begin to change rapidly again.

It gets harder and harder to keep up the facade of that "everything is okay" mask.

Sometimes my depression is so bad that I can't get out of bed, I can't move, I can't see anything beyond that moment. A black fog takes over my brain and I am either crippled with a.) feelings of intense self loathing and a hopelessness that I cannot even begin to describe, or then there's b.) I simply feel nothing at all.

To say depression is debilitating is no overstatement. You can't move, you can't feel anything, it's like a dementor has come along and taken your soul. (for lack of a better explanation, you can always rely on Harry Potter) it's bleak and it's constant and it's nothing you can "snap out of" no matter how much you try.

When I'm at my worst I don't even have the energy to sit up. My limbs feel heavy and the sense of fatigue is indescribable. In a bad spell, the usual insomnia that I've suffered from from for 16 years is diminished and I find myself sleeping for at least 14 hours minimum. I cannot feel any of the love that I know is out there for me, it's like I'm trapped inside a bubble where I can see things, but they don't penetrate through to me, I can't feel it. Everything and everyone is moving and I'm just lying there, waiting. 

There is a lack of any comprehension of being "better" you cannot see past that day, you cannot envision any kind of future and it just aids to your feelings of worthlessness. Time and time again I don't feel worthy of being here, of living. I don't feel good enough for anybody, let alone myself. I am filled with so much self loathing and disgust for myself and the way I look that I have smashed mirrors, covered them up, and lay on the bathroom floor sobbing because I cannot see anything but fat and ugly when I see my reflection.

It's selfish and consuming and it merges itself with you and you become one. It steals away the very essence of you and embeds itself further and further into you that you become the illness. And that's it, it's got you.  People perceive you as lazy or unmotivated but how do you explain that every little piece of you has been taken over by unrelenting darkness and that you have lost your identity to this force inside of you that is stronger than anything you can see or touch? 

"It's like drowning, except you can see everyone around you breathing" - Unknown

I wanted to write this post for a number of reasons. What spurred it on was a friend who experiences similar issues commented something along the lines of; because it's not physical, because people can't see it, it's almost deemed not as important as a physical ailment. 

And that's precisely it. 

You can't call in sick to work or school because your mood is so low that you can't move. You can't cancel plans because your anxiety is so severe that you have had numerous panic attacks. Whereas if you've got a migraine or a stomach ache, it's completely understandable. 

And that's where the problem lies; not enough people understand the seriousness of an illness of the mind that you can't see. 

I don't mean that in a patronising way at all. What I mean is that unless you have experienced it or seen somebody experience it, whatever "it" is, you can't possibly comprehend what it feels like for somebody when they are in that state. That isn't something to be ashamed of, I almost envy people who don't get it, who have never felt the severity of clinical depression or severe anxiety, who think an eating disorder is just somebody skipping a few meals or throwing up after they eat. It doesn't make you less of a human being, and it doesn't make you less caring. In my view it just means that you can hear it from someone's first hand point of view and gain a better insight into it, so that people can try to understand it. 

If this at least helps change one person's perception of what someone is struggling with then I won't feel so nervous and anxious about sharing the inner most ramblings of my mind with the internet. 

Although the stigma of mental illness has slowly worn off over the years, unfortunately, that stigma is still prevalent today. The only way we can help eradicate that is to talk about it more, share our experiences more and encourage people to understand that mental illness transcends class, age, gender, race, religion... It is not something to be ashamed of. It takes a lot of courage to admit that there is a problem, whatever form of problem that may be, and even if you have yet to share it, or seek help for it, or have even slipped back into it, I am so incredibly proud of each and every single one of you for acknowledging it. 

I know my mouse shall be hovering over the "publish" button for a very long time once I have finished writing this, but please leave any comments or questions below. 

(Please remember, I am by no means a professional, I am merely a girl with a laptop who doesn't want anybody out there to feel like they need to suffer alone)