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I hate myself. I hate myself for being lazy. I hate myself for being greedy. I hate myself for still being alive. I wish I had killed myself. I said about 2 weeks ago that I didn't want to be here for the new year, and the closer it gets the more strongly I wish that. I wish I had acted on those thoughts. I am weak and pathetic and a waste of space and I hate myself. I wish I could turn back time a couple of days and kill myself. There were too many bloody people around all the time, it was a nightmare, I would never have got away with it. But I still wish I had tried. I don't want to be here so much that it hurts.
I feel shit. Confused and stressed and frustrated and just shit. New Year is stressing me out a lot. I am trying to think of it as just another day, but I can't. I don't want to be here. I desperately wish that people would let me go. I suppose by that I primarily mean my parents. I wish they could accept me killing myself. And I know that they never will, which just puts me in a horrible situation. I hate living, I don't want to be here, I desperately want to kill myself, but I know that in doing so I would hurt the people that I care about the most, even if I do think it would be better for them in the long term.
I saw Dr O today. I asked her to put me on Tryptophan again. I used to take this alongside an anti depressant, as some dipshit psychiatrist thought it would make an SSRI more effective. Needless to say it didn't, but it definitely did affect my appetite, which I didn't actually realise until recently. Whilst I was on the Tryptophan my appetite decreased, and I lost weight without having to try too hard. Yes, I was restricting, but it was easy as I just didn't get hungry. Then when I stopped taking it, my appetite came back and I gained weight - I am now a stone more than I was in the summer. Stupidly I didn't link the weight changes and the Tryptophan until a week or so back, and I now desperately want to start it again. I don't give a flying fuck if it doesn't work as an anti depressant - I just want to feel in control of my eating again. Unfortunately Dr E, my psychiatrist, seems very anti medication for me, so I know she is not very likely to give it to me again, so I decided to ask Dr O. This was possibly a tad manipulative, as I know damn well that Dr E deals with my medication, but I thought I had more chance of getting it from Dr O so I was going to ask anyway. She said I didn't look like I had gained weight (bullshit), and looked it up in her little pill book and said that loss of appetite wasn't even listed as a side effect, so I made her google it, as I had done this and found that it apparently does help with weight loss, but I couldn't remember what I had googled, and she didn't find anything that said that, so I think she thinks I am imagining it anyway. I thought she was going to give it to me, but then she said that I am seeing Dr E in 3 weeks, and could I not wait until then and talk to her about it, and if she said no, then next time I saw her we could talk about it again. I did whine slightly and try to persuade her to prescribe it now, but she wouldn't. The bloody frustrating thing is that I know I have some somewhere from when I took it before, but I can't bloody find it. I could of course order them from a health shop or online or something, as Tryptophan is just an amino acid, not a 'real' drug, but since I know that the prescription version makes me lose weight, AND I get my prescriptions free, I want it on prescription ideally. But if Dr E says no I will just order it online.
I miss L. It is still 6 days until I see her, and she is the only person I trust to talk to at the moment. I fucking hate attachment. Why do I only get attached to people who I can never have a real relationship with, like therapists, or Doctors, or when I was younger teachers? Why can't I form an attachment to someone who can genuinely care about me in return? I want L to care about me. I want her to take me home with her and look after me and adopt me. Which of course is never going to happen, and is also a complete contradiction to my saying earlier that I wished people would stop caring about me and let me go. I really do confuse myself. I also really wish that I could see L more than once a week, and I genuinely don't think that is just because I am attached to her. It just goes so quickly, and I have more to talk about than can fit in that time, especially because of the way our sessions tend to go (bit of general chat, recommending books to each other, moaning about the NHS etc). We do virtually always run over, which makes up for that stuff, but even so, there just isn't time. I usually write stuff during the week, about how I am feeling and what I am thinking etc, which she then reads, as she finds it useful to actually see how I am feeling at times when I am not there, because my memory is atrocious, and so although I may be able to say 'Oh, tuesday was crap, I felt awful', I won't remember what I was feeling and thinking that made it awful etc, so I suppose it gives her more insight. And I try to be as honest as possible when I am writing, and so it does mean that I end up writing about things that I possibly wouldn't talk about. So anyway, she reads what I have written and we talk about some of it, and then that kind of takes up most of the session. I feel like I need another session a week to talk more in depth about some of the things that come up. She has said that she is going to start reading what I have written in the previous week, and make her own notes on it etc, which I can then read the next session to make sure that we aren't missing out on anything I have written that may be significant, and so I can see her observations on it etc, which might be interesting. But I just feel like I need more time. I want to ask if there is any chance I could see her twice a week, but I know the answer is likely to be no, so there doesn't seem much point, plus I would be a bit embarassed asking.
I had a Diazepam when I started writing this, so am feeling marginally calmer now. I may attempt sleep. This was rather long again. Ah well.
I think one of the things that I dislike about the New Year is that it reminds me of everything over the past year that I regret. Plus of course it is going to be a new decade, so I have a whole decade of regrets to really focus on. And given that I am currently 23, that means I have everything in my life since the age of 13 to regret, which is an awful lot of things. Some things happened, or didn't happen, before that age that I regret, but the majority has obviously been in the last 10 years.
Firstly I would like to delete the last 5 or 6 years of my life. They have been shit. And getting progressively worse if I am honest. The last 4 years in particular have been completely and utterly wasted. I have literally achieved nothing. If I am going to kill myself imminently then that is fine, if not then it bothers me a lot, and makes me *want* to kill myself imminently, so it is a bit of a catch 22 really. I have spent an awful lot of time lying in bed doing nothing, time talking to mental health professionals, time loathing myself, purging etc etc. Nothing that I imagined myself doing by the time I was this age has happened.
One thing that really upsets me is not caring about the things that I used to be passionate about. Every now and then I get a little flash of inspiration, and I remember why I care about the things I do, or did. Performing has been what I have wanted to do for as long as I can remember. I still go to dance classes etc, but the vast majority of the time I don't actually want to go, or care about what I am doing when I am there - I just do it, almost mechanically. It is part of my life, a habit almost, and so I do it. Like appointments. I don't miss appointments. They are a committment and therefore I go. And most of the time the same applies to dance classes. I just go whether I like it or not. Sometimes I don't, when things are really at rock bottom and I can't move from my bed, but mostly I do. But often I forget why. I lose sight of the reason behind it. I don't care about what I am doing there, my head just tells me that I will be dead soon, so what is the point of trying to improve my pirouettes, or get my pointe work stronger. Who gives a shit about pointe work?! I can think of numerous times when I have stood at the barre warming up, mechanically doing my plies and tendus, whilst planning to kill myself, or having seen the crisis team earlier that day, or having self harmed hours before.
I don't really know what I am talking about here. I am waffling. There is a point to this though. I was talking about regrets, and how it ties into my thoughts regarding the future. And the big thing that I was sure I would have achieved by now is going to drama school, studying musical theatre, maybe even working. Performing is all I have ever wanted to do, and yet at times it feels impossible. And not just at the times when I am not intending to be here anymore. But wanting something so much can hurt. I think of all the people out there more talented than me, who can dance better, sing better, act better, look better, and I wonder why I bother trying. Why I ever thought that I could do it. And that feeds straight back into the suicidal thoughts. I am never going to be able to do the only thing I have ever wanted to do, so why do I bother?
A big regret of mine is not taking dance more seriously when I was younger. I went to a very bad teacher, and danced for about 45 mins a week until I was about 15, and that was it. I had always wanted to perform, but we live in the middle of the sticks, and she taught locally, so that was that. When I was 15 or 16 I started having private ballet lessons in an attempt to catch up a bit, which I had for a year or 2 before going to a decent dance school. But missing out on so many years of training is something that I often really regret. If I had decent training when I was young I could have had real potential. Physically I am fairly well cut out for dancing. I have excellent feet (if I do say so myself!), hyperextended joints (not a good thing in the real world, but very much liked in ballet!), suitable proportions (that means a long neck mostly!), and when I am in control of my eating, the right type of figure. Had I had reasonable training when I was young, I would have stood a decent chance of getting into a full time ballet school at 11, as the things I have listed above are considered to be more important than technique, as they can't be changed - technique can be worked on. And then I think about how different my life could have been. Would I have still ended up trying to kill myself? Being admitted to psychiatric hospitals? Lying around in bed doing nothing? I admit that I would almost certainly have still had an eating disorder, but what about the rest? Sometimes I wish I could go back to a really young age, say 7 or 8, and do everything over again. And other times I don't care, and I just want to kill myself now.
Sometimes I think about stopping dancing. Stopping performing. Giving it all up. Then I see something that truly inspires me, and I remember why I want to do it all, and why I am willing to put myself through so many rejections, and spend hours a week looking at myself prancing around in front of a mirror. Tonight I watched a DVD I got for Christmas called 'Every Little Step'. It is a documentary about the casting process for the recent Broadway revival of the musical A Chorus Line. It made me remember why I wanted to perform. Need is probably a more appropriate word than want. It is something inside me, that has been there for as long as I can remember, and has refused to disappear completely regardless of what I have thrown at it. Sometimes I am desperate to succeed, but also desperately afraid of failing. What do I do if I can't perform? And I am so aware that the weeks and months and years are ticking by, and I am coming no closer to it. I am 23. I haven't applied for college this year. That means that even if I applied and was accepted next year, I would be 25 when I started. That means I would be 28 when I graduated. And whilst for most careers that is fine, that is not young in dance terms. And so then I think oh fuck it, I may as well kill myself.
I am by no means saying that I am suicidal because I am not a successful performer. There is obviously far, far more to it than that - performing is merely a small issue that becomes part of a bigger whole. Performing is just what I decided to write about today. But when I am feeling on edge, these small things can tip me over the edge. If I am feeling suicidal, regretting having not achieved more in my life can be enough to make me completely lose the plot. And unfortunately, in my life achievements are caught up with performing. One of the toughest businesses there is to succeed in. And performing is closely linked to my perfectionist tendancies. And those perfectionist tendancies amplify everything I have done wrong, or not achieved. And lead back to the suicidal thoughts. Which lead to the staying in bed and achieving nothing. And round we go. Like a fucking hamster in a wheel.
If anyone has actually managed to read this all the way through then they deserve a medal!
Just want to clear things up, as I am wondering from comments if a couple of people have read my blog and thought I am someone else. Since I got this name from a post on Mental Nurse there is a distinct possibility that someone else may have the same name. Sorry if I have disappointed or confused anyone, but I haven't had a blog, or followed any of the blogs that I now read, before fairly recently. Just wanted to clear that up!
The bad news is that I feel like a beached whale. My hip bones are buried somewhere under multiple layers of fat. This is clearly very distressing and upsets me muchly. I weigh a stone more than I did in the summer.
The good news is that I haven't actually gained any weight over Christmas. How this miracle has occurred I have no idea, as I have spent the last 3 days feeling sick non stop, and have eaten far more chocolates and crap than anyone should.
My grandad spent most of yesterday commenting on my 'lovely legs'. And eating mince pies. It was clearly not a good idea for me to wear a fairly short dress. Ah well, lesson learnt!
Getting increasingly tense about the whole New Year thing. I really really DON'T want it. I am desperately trying to think of ways to stop it from happening, which rather unfortunately is bound to be a fruitless pursuit given that is impossible and all. I don't like that I can't stop it. I don't like that I can't be in control of it.
It is still 8 days until I see L again. Stupid Christmas and New Year and stupid annual leave. This feels like a really long time to wait, especially given all the suicidal thoughts that I am having. I do have an appointment with Dr O on wednesday, but that seems pretty pointless really, as there is nothing she can do other than give me my meds. I want to see L. I want someone to talk to. Someone that I trust. And the only person I trust at the moment is L really.
I believe that Bedlem would be less chaotic than my house is today. 12 people here, including a baby, a 4 year old and a 5 year old. Hyperactive doesn't begin to describe it. Them, not me. I am decidedly non-hyperactive. Currently I am hiding in my room to escape the madness for a bit, but even up here I can hear people talking and the baby crying. Even so, there is a distinct advantage of being in my own home, rather than at someone else's as we were yesterday. Easier to get away. I feel safer in my own house. Even if it is infested with people. Christmas is not a 1 day event for my family. It lasts the entire period between Christmas and New Year. We were at my sister's house yesterday. Today her and her family, plus one of my brothers and his family are here. Tomorrow my aunt and grandad are coming, my grandad is then staying until wednesday, when my other brother and his family are coming over. Then it is New Year's Eve and Day, which I intend to do as little for as possible. I hate New Year even more than Christmas. Christmas is difficult because of all the people and food, and pressure to be happy, but New Year is stressful in itself, even without all those added extras, as it makes me think about everything I have fucked up or failed to achieve in the last year, and I feel like I am infecting the next year by going into it feeling the way I do. This is magnified this year, by it not just being a new year, but a new decade. Frankly the whole thing has built up in my mind to make me feel really quite suicidal. I want to kill myself before the new year starts. I have felt very suicidal for several weeks, but I didn't want to ruin Christmas for people, especially the children, but now I almost feel like I have done my bit - I have joined in with Christmas, acted (relatively) happy, and now I should be allowed to do what I want, which is to kill myself. I don't know whether I will act on these thoughts or not - it depends on a lot of factors, but they are very much present in my head, and not helped by the fact that I don't have the usual safety net of L to turn to, as she is obviously on annual leave, and won't be back at work until the new year. It is still a week and a half before I next have an appointment with her, which feels a very long way away.
So a little bit about me. As I said in my profile, I am 23, and this blog will probably be mostly Mental Health related. I live in the South East of England with my parents. I started having problems with depression and bulimia when I was 17, for which I was given Prozac and a CMHT referral. At 18 I started seeing a psychologist at the CMHT, whom I saw for about a year, and various psychiatrists. I also tried to kill myself. Several years/hospitalisations/suicide attempts later and here we are. My diagnosis is now Borderline Personality Disorder, which I have rather mixed feelings about, that I will discuss another time. Prior to this my diagnoses were depression, anxiety, and EDNOS. All still apply. I just have a shiny new label on top. I have a fantastic CPN, who is my Care Coordinator, who I will refer to as L. I see her weekly. I also see N, my support worker weekly, and Dr E my psychiatrist, and Dr O my GP monthly.
I would say that I am not a 'typical' Borderline in some ways. Although I do self harm, it is infrequent, and superficial. It is something I do as a last resort, when I am very suicidal, in an attempt not to do anything worse. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn't. I tend to be rather sarcastic, rather un PC, and laugh about my problems. Sometimes this doesn't go down too well with the professionals. I think that is probably about all I have to say for now. Beware though, I usually ramble on for far longer than this.
I decided I wanted to start an anonymous blog, as opposed to my LiveJournal blog, which is semi anonymous in that not many 'real life' people read it, but some do, and all know who I am. This is just for me. My updates will probably be fairly sporadic, as I go through phases where I like to write, and phases where I don't.
Another reason for starting this blog, is that I seem to have gathered a whole host of blogs that I regularly read (mostly Mental Health related, and the majority sourced from the excellent http://www.mentalnurse.org.uk) and wanted a nice easy way to track them all.
Since it is 3:40am I will leave my introductory post for later.
I am a 24 year old female, currently embroiled in the Mental Health minefield. My diagnonsense is Borderline Personality Disorder, and I also have problems with Depression, Anxiety and disordered eating. Bippidee is my nickname for BPD, as stolen from the fantastic mentalnurse.
If you know me in real life, then please respect my wish for anonymity here.
You are welcome to add me on Facebook - I am on there as Bippidee Mentalist, and on Twitter as bippidee86.