Break

Just wanted to let you all know I am not intending to blog for a while. I may or may come back to it, I don't know. I have met some wonderful friends through this blog who I value enormously, but I feel too much like I am being judged by what I write here to continue. I have nothing to talk about except how I feel, and that is not changing, and I can't cope with being accused of crying wolf for talking about my feelings, so I feel a break is in order. The suicidal thoughts are incredibly strong, but since I am still alive that apparently proves I am just attention seeking, and the fact that the professionals and my family know how I am feeling but don't offer any more support makes me feel like they either also think I am attention seeking, or that they have accepted my decision - it doesn't really matter which. As I have said before, I have been having trust issues for a while, and they have just been exacerbated by things that have been going on on Facebook lately in relation to this blog, and I just can't deal with it. I had been considering taking a break anyway, and events tonight have made up my mind. If I am around, those of you who want to keep in touch with me know how to. Thank you very much for all of the support over the past 15 months or so. I appreciate it enormously and wish you all the best. xxxx

Karita

I was lucky enough today to be visited by the lovely Karita. I can honestly say that she is one of the most caring, supportive people I have ever met. It was really good to have someone there, in 'real life' who I didn't need to pretend with, and who was completely non judgemental and made me feel cared about. Despite having never met her before, I felt able to be completely honest with her, which although I do when writing on this blog, I find incredibly hard to do when actually speaking to someone, but I just felt completely at ease with her. She spent hours listening to me and cuddling me and letting me cry, and just being completely wonderful. I can't say how much I appreciated her visit. Her husband, who is also lovely, drove her up here, and then left us to it for a few hours, and then I had my appointment with Dr O, which she came to with me, and then we came back home and they both came in for several hours, and left at about 9pm. They don't live close to me, and so it really did mean such a lot that they had made so much effort to come and visit me. I am always amazed that anyone could care about me at all, let alone someone who had never even met me, and had to travel hours to come and see me, just because I am struggling so much. I am immensely grateful that she did though, and just for the record, she gives great hugs! I really can't thank her enough.

My GP appointment was fairly uneventful I think. Karita may remember more if than I do - I don't have a great memory about appointments. My mum had spoken to L at some point today, and told me that L had said to ask for blood tests to be done, which she did suggest to me a couple of weeks ago, but I forgot about, and that if my GP was happy to then she could prescribe an anti depressant. How kind! I have only been saying for about nine months that I thought I was better on medication, even if it was only slightly. My GP said that since I have problems sleeping as well then Mirtazapine might be a good one. I can't remember if I actually laughed out loud at that or just in my head, but I said there was no way I was taking it, and she asked why, and I said because of the weight gain. She said that I knew too much, and that she wouldn't have told me about that. Suggestion number two was Seroxat. Since I had no actual intention of taking anything that was prescribed due to the whole suicidal thing, I did let her give me a script for that, but it is not a medication I have ever wanted to take, primarily because of the controversy over it regarding stopping taking it, and also the fact that it increases suicidal thoughts in some people. I mentioned the Panorama programme and got told off for knowing too much again. I am sure Karita won't mind me saying that my favourite part of the appointment was when Dr O was talking to her and asking where she had come from and if she worked etc, and then asked if she had taken time off work, ie meaning today to come and see me, and Karita was clearly thinking in mental health terms and replied 'no, not recently'. My second favourite bit in the appointment was after telling my GP how suicidal I was feeling, she asked what my parents were doing tomorrow, and said (quite excitedly I thought) that there was point to pointing on, and seemed to be presenting that as a reason to stay alive. My GP is sweet, she is very well meaning, and she cares, but I think Karita would probably agree that mental health is not her speciality, and she does come out with some comments that are either very random, like the point to pointing suggestion, or quite unhelpful, like trying to guilt trip me into staying alive by telling me how it would destroy people's lives if I killed myself etc. I never find comments like that at all helpful, as of course I think about it - I think about it non stop, and I hate myself for it, and I wish there was an alternative, which is why I continue to seek help even when I no longer want it for myself, but there does come a time when your pain is just too immense, and even knowing how much you will upset the people you care about just isn't enough, but I think that is probably something that is incredibly difficult for anyone to understand unless they have actually felt that level of desperation themselves. I tried to be honest with Dr O. I think I was, although I did find I was getting more and more frustrated as the appointment went on, and so remembered less and less of what was being said. She just kept telling me that I could keep going, and that I could see the nurse for blood tests next week and then her again the following week, and I was getting more and more worked up as the suicidal thoughts are just so overwhelming. She told me to book the appointments for the blood test and to see her again, and also told Karita to talk to me about things or something when we got home (I'm not really sure - I think she was telling her to persuade me not to kill myself?) and then to phone and speak to her later, but I didn't book the appointments, as it seemed entirely pointless, and I didn't phone her, as I had seen her an hour before - I had nothing else to say. She did phone and spoke to my mum, but I have no idea what was said.

The suicidal thoughts are very strong and very overwhelming. I truly wish there was a way out of all of this without hurting people, but there isn't. I can't cope, I am completely desperate, and yet again I am in the position where I am next due to see someone in nearly two week's time. I am out of options. I have told everyone how I feel. I have tried to get help, even when I haven't wanted it. I have tried to keep going. I have tried doing the things I am supposed to be doing, like going to bed early the other night, going for a walk etc etc, but I still feel the same. It was really great to see Karita - she really was an absolute star, and I love her to pieces, and all of the support I get online is invaluable, but nobody can take away the thoughts, and at times like these when I am alone with them it is just all too much. I have no hope for the future, I have no fight left in me - I have nothing but desperation.

Another day

It isn't getting any easier. Last night was horrible. I literally was unable to keep my eyes open, and fell asleep, crying because I needed to stay awake longer so that I could wait for my parents to go to bed and kill myself but just couldn't do it. I slept for a few hours, and then woke at about 2:30am I think. I was still feeling utterly exhausted, but not sleepy. I needed the toilet but I didn't have the energy to move, so I held it in for about three hours before I finally reached the point where it was moving or wetting the bed. When I woke up I was questioning whether or not it was too late in the night to go ahead with my plan. I don't do things on impulse, and I will not attempt suicide unless I think there is at least some chance of it working, and obviously the higher the better, and for my first choice plan this means leaving as much time as possible before anyone will find me. My second choice plan isn't time limited, but is very much a last resort plan as far as I am concerned. I knew that the man from the DWP could arrive any time after 9:30am, which meant that potentially I didn't have that long, or at least not in comparison to the length of time I would sometimes have, and I was yet to write the note I wanted to leave, which would have taken some time, and so ultimately I decided I couldn't do anything. I decided I would prefer to wait one or two more days and have a higher chance of it being successful. I was still very upset about it all though, and once I had woken up I couldn't get back to sleep for at least four hours. I came online and talked to Danni on Facebook chat for a long time, who was very supportive. I found I was getting increasingly worked up about everything, and so in the end decided to call out of hours, and ended up speaking to the same woman I had spoken to the previous night. She seemed different last night - I suspect she had looked at my notes and seen the BPD diagnosis, as she was certainly less supportive than she had been the night before, and started going on about doing a part time college course and moving out and various other things that feel beyond me when I am doing better, let alone at the moment, whereas the previous night she had been surprised by the lack of support and was telling me I needed to fight to get suitable help. Of course I can't prove anything, but her attitude was definitely different last night. It didn't really help talking to her, as the things she was talking about were just so far out of my realm of possibilities that it was more frustrating than anything else. After I spoke to her I came back online for a little while, but was feeling really quite upset, and decided I would go and invade my mum's bed and sleep in there, which I sometimes do when I feel shit.

Today my mum woke me up at around midday, as the DWP man arrived. It was pretty ridiculous really - he had been sent around because the Inland Revenue had a query about the amount of interest my savings account had made in 06/07. They thought it seemed too high. I said that since I have always had to send off bank statements to the DWP, they have always known how much money I have, and so I don't see how there can be a query about the interest, when they had a statement to go with it. He said it clearly hadn't been entered on the system properly or he wouldn't have been sent around. It seems ridiculous that they will send someone around about something from five years ago, that would have been unnecessary if people had done their jobs properly. He then had to go through all of his form and ask if I had had any changes in circumstances, if I was still unable to work, etc etc. I have got to dig out all of my bank statements since November '09 and send them to him - that will be a mission. He was very friendly though, not remotely confrontational or pushy, and if I hadn't been feeling so awful and exhausted it wouldn't have been remotely stressful.

This afternoon my mum dragged me (pretty much literally) out on a walk with the dog with her. I didn't want to go - I felt ridiculously tired, my head was feeling like it was going to explode, and my legs felt like lead. I can't say it was remotely enjoyable, in fact I loathed it, but at least they can't say I am not trying. She has also been making sure I have some food, although I have absolutely no appetite. I am not eating three meals a day, or anything even approaching it, but I am having something every day. The suicidal thoughts have been very intense again today. I got very upset earlier and just kept telling my mum I wanted to die. Today I felt like I reached a point where I no longer wanted help, I didn't care that L wasn't doing anything, or that I couldn't see the crisis team, or anything else. I just don't care anymore. I am too drained and too exhausted, and too sick of fighting. I have given up on trying to get help, as it clearly doesn't work, and I feel fine about that. I just don't want to be here.

Today I have felt very undecided about whether I was going to act on the thoughts tonight or not. It is actually another blogger who has made me decide not to do anything tonight. I desperately want to, but another day can't hurt right?? A couple of days ago the lovely Karita offered to come and visit me tomorrow. At the time I was planning to kill myself last night, but since I am still here today, I have decided that I can get through one more night. It amazes me how kind and caring people can be - I am so grateful to all of you out there who have been so supportive of me. It means so much. Lovely Frankie phoned earlier and we had a nice chat. I feel very lucky to have such caring people around me, albeit online rather than in person (except for tomorrow of course). I also have my GP appointment tomorrow, which again, I wasn't planning to be here for, but the combination of that and Karita visiting are making me think I must get through tonight. I know there is nothing my GP can do, and as I said, I am past the point where I want help to be honest, but she was very caring and supportive when I spoke to her yesterday, and she said repeatedly that she really wanted me to go and see her tomorrow, so I will. There really is nothing she can do - L has effectively blocked both the crisis team and hospital, and I don't even think that seeing the crisis team would be enough anymore anyway, and I don't want to be in hospital. I think this is the worst depression I have ever been in. It isn't lifting at all, and there is usually at least some part of me that wants help, but trying so hard to get it and getting nowhere has just taken the last of my fight out of me, and I have nothing left. I have been trying to do what I am told - I went to bed early last night, and it was a disaster, I went for a walk and hated it, and it exhausted me to the point that I had to go back to bed and just lie down in the dark when I got back - I didn't even have the energy to have my laptop on. At least nobody will be able to say I haven't tried everything. But I will get through tonight, and tomorrow I will spend some time with Karita, who is lovely (and I am sure spending time with friends must be another approved thing to do - they always seem to ask if I have friends I can see), and I will see my GP, and hopefully that will be the end of my involvement with any professionals. I did feel like it was unfair of me to let Karita come all this way to see me when I am such a mess and will probably be really shit company, but she has assured me that she doesn't mind. I don't care what anyone says - the internet is really really great. (Any musical theatre fans can carry on with the lyrics from there!)

Hurt

So I have my appointment with L later. I am not feeling remotely positive about it. I can't see an outcome that could improve things or make me feel any more positive about anything. I feel like it is going to be a difficult appointment for both of us - she is going to be frustrated by me because I don't feel able to do simple things like get dressed and go out for walks daily, and eat regular meals, and improve my sleep, and I am going to feel useless because I can't do any of those things, and frustrated with myself for being so pathetic, and with her for not being able to do more, which I know is unfair, but I just feel so horrible. I seriously considered not going to the appointment. Not just not turning up, because I don't do that, but cancelling - I am not sure whether for her sake or mine, or both. I did actually send her an email in the afternoon to that effect, saying that I was concerned it would be frustrating as she would want me to do things that I don't feel able to do, and I didn't want to make things tense, or to frustrate her, or make me feel worse. She replied that she thought we should talk about the options, and so would be happier if I kept the appointment, so I will go. I am worried, and I think not without reason, that she is going to stop seeing me. She talked last time about how if I am feeling this bad she obviously isn't helping, and maybe she is either taking a wrong approach, or she is the wrong person to be working with me at the moment. I have a strong suspicion that she may suggest we either take a break from sessions, or that she will pass me to another member of the team. I know I must be immensely frustrating at the moment, and based on the last time I saw her I just wouldn't be surprised if something like that happens. I will just have to see what happens I suppose, but I really won't be shocked if something along those lines does come up, particularly given what she said about talking about the options, as I am unsure as to what else she could mean by that. I feel like I am letting her down at the moment by not being able to do the things she wants me to.

It has been yet another difficult night. It begun by me getting a bit upset by some comments I received regarding this blog. I was told amongst other things "Sorry Bip but your self-pity and self indulgence is starting to grate. And, 'Madospherites', i do know what I'm talking about (more than most of you cyan imagine) don't come back at me with self-indulgent drivel." I was quite hurt to be honest. I suppose it touched too close to home to what I worry people will think of me, and what I think the professionals might be thinking of me. The thing with this blog is that although I do really appreciate all of the comments and support I receive through it, I write it for me. I write it because I am encouraged to write about my feelings and thoughts, as it helps me, and I like using blogging to do that because it allows me to connect with others. I don't write in order to garner sympathy or pity. I write whatever I am thinking at the time. But to be honest this has made me consider taking a blogging hiatus, at least whilst this particularly bad episode persists. Although I would continue to write, as I need to do that for me, I may not publish anything for a while, although I will see how I feel. I never wanted my blog to turn into one long moan, and essentially it has, and I don't want people to think of me as a continuously negative person who just whines non stop. I do not want people to reassure me regarding this because they don't want to hurt my feelings by telling me how dull and whiny I am, I honestly don't. So I am considering a blogging break. I will post later to say what happens with L, but I will see how I feel after that. If I continue to write, and you do think I am whiny and need to get over myself, please just stop reading. I don't want anyone to read out of a sense of obligation. If you are a friend and feel like you should read so you know what is going on in my life, but find my writing grates, then just stop - I honestly don't mind. This is primarily for me, and whilst I have met some fantastic people through this blog, who I now consider friends, I don't want anyone to read if they don't want to.

I really am fully aware that I am difficult and frustrating at the moment, probably to professionals and friends alike. I appear to be in an incredibly deep depression, that is certainly amongst the worst I have ever experienced, if not the worst, and despite time passing, it isn't easing at all. If anything, I seem to be feeling increasingly hopeless. I suppose it could be seen as fortunate that things have been as bad as they have. I have had so little energy and felt so terrible that the vast majority of my time seems to be spent either asleep (although I am not getting much sleep), just lying in bed feeling paralysed and so completely unable to do anything, or just somehow disappearing without me even really realising it - I suppose through dissociation. It literally sometimes takes me an hour or two to manage to get myself out of bed when I need the toilet (although I was also told "No-one is literally unable to get out of bed unless they are physically disabled"). I have no appetite most of the time, although I am forcing myself to eat anyway, although not regularly. To be honest, I feel almost certain that if I had slightly more energy I would have attempted to kill myself by now, but despite the thoughts constantly churning around in my head, I just feel too exhausted to act on them. It always strikes me as somewhat ironic that you can be too depressed to kill yourself. Plus I have genuinely been trying to get by for the sake of those who care about me, despite not wanting to, and so I have been putting whatever energy I have been able to find into asking for help when I feel like I need it, although it has proven to be fairly futile on the whole, writing here to try and clear my head, and trying not to cut myself off from people completely, which is certainly tempting when I feel like this. I have been making a lot of effort, although it evidently doesn't appear that way to some people, but I know how I feel, I know the thoughts I am having to contend with on a daily basis, and I know how desperate I am, and how strongly I feel I don't want to be here, and although that may mean I am coming across as self pitying and self indulgent, (and perhaps I am these things) I am doing absolutely everything I feel able to do at the moment. I am still alive, and although I think that is largely due to the extent of my depression, I suppose I have to view it as an achievement, despite it not feeling like one.

So where from here? I don't know right now. I suppose I go to my appointment this afternoon with L, and try to be honest about my feelings, despite knowing it isn't what she wants to hear. And then, who knows? I will blog following my appointment, which to be perfectly honest I am already dreading, and after that I will make a decision about whether I want to continue to blog at the moment or not. And life generally I guess. Que sera, sera.

DWP and friendship

I meant to blog earlier, but I didn't know what to say. I feel like I have said it all. Multiple times in fact. I think everyone has grasped that I feel like shit and want to die. For anyone new, or who hasn't picked up on the situation, that is it. I mostly write as a way of trying to get all of the thoughts out of my head, but they don't appear to be going anywhere even when I do write, so it seems quite pointless from that point of view, and I am just really lacking motivation. There are a couple of specific things I wanted to write about though, so I will try and write about those, rather than just generally rambling.

I got a letter yesterday, which stressed me out. From the DWP, wouldn't you know? It says, and I quote (anything in red is an addition by me),

'Dear Bippidee (of course addressed to my real name, or it would just be weird)

We need to see you in order to discuss the benefits we are currently paying you because a query has arisen on your claim. What the fuck?! We need to ensure your payments are correct and it is important that you are available so we can discuss the matter further. What matter? I see no matter to discuss. Please fuck off and leave me alone.

You should note that where there is doubt about whether the conditions for entitlement are met, we can suspend payment of your benefit. Thanks. Please fuck off, again.

A Customer Compliance Officer, Mr Nosy Fuckwit (not real name) will be calling on Thursday, 24 February 2011 between the times of 9:30AM and 3:30PM. Please note we will not be able to state a specific time. Helpful. Thanks for that.

Some irrelevant crap like stuff they want to see, none of which I know where to find etc etc.

Yours sincerely
Mr Nosy Fuckwit
Customer Compliance Officer'

This fairly naturally sent me into a complete tailspin. Firstly, what on earth is there to query about my benefits?! The only thing I am claiming is old Incapacity, although due to lack of NI contributions it has always been paid as Income Support with illness/disability premium. I live at home with my parents, which they know, I have some savings that are within permitted amounts, which they know, I don't work, I am not going out partying every day and claiming under false pretences. I don't claim Housing/Council Tax benefit as I live with my parents. I am not even claiming DLA, which I have been told by multiple people I am eligible for. So what is there to discuss? What can possibly have been queried? I asked on Twitter yesterday, and also did some Google research, and it seems like they are essentially the overspill of the fraud department, and are generally sent around when someone has said you are making a fraudulent claim, or if they suspect you are living with a partner and have claimed you are living alone etc etc. A few people have said they occasionally make random checks, but I would seem a bad person to make a random check on, given that my claim is so straightforward to most people's - I claim one benefit. I am not at all happy about them sending a man around to my house. I don't want some strange man in my house making accusations that I am a benefit fraud. I don't want some strange man in my house full stop. And them not being able to give a time is completely shit. I wasn't planning to go anywhere, but it is very rare at the moment that I get to sleep before 6am. I will have to be awake by 9:15am in case they do come in the morning. And then what if they don't come until 3pm. I am meant to stay awake all day having probably had 2 or 3 hours sleep, waiting for them? That won't happen. And what if I wanted to arrange for someone to be here with me for support - are they supposed to stay for six hours?? It seems totally unreasonable. I tried phoning the number on the letter that it says to contact immediately if you are unavailable etc to a) find out what the hell it is about, and b) try to pin them down to a more precise time, for example morning or afternoon, but I got no reply. And it didn't even go to answerphone. This stress was absolutely the last thing that I needed right now with how I was feeling. It actually made me even more determined to kill myself before then so I didn't have to deal with it. I don't know where my driving licence or passport are, I have no utility bills, I have no rent agreement - all of which they want to see. I have a bank statement. But I have two bank accounts and only have a statement for one of them. They will hate me. I just really didn't need this stress. I know I have done nothing wrong and so I have nothing to be worried about, but my experience with the DWP has shown me that you have to be worried even if you haven't done anything wrong, as they will treat you like a criminal regardless. Fuckwits.

Right, onto a nicer subject. Today the most beautiful bouquet of flowers arrived for me. It was from La Reve and I can't say how much it meant to me that she had done that for me. It was completely unexpected, and nearly made me cry. I can't believe that someone whom I have never met, and have only known a relatively short time, would want to do something so sweet and generous for me. The madosphere is a wonderful reminder of how many fabulous people there are out there, who really do care for others, and will do things to try and help. She knew she couldn't stop me feeling like this, but she showed me she cared, and that meant so much. And does every time I get a supportive comment or email or tweet. It reminds me that people care, which is a really big deal when you don't feel you are getting any care from the professionals, whose job it is to care. There will always be people who say it is a bad idea to talk to people you have met on the Internet, that you don't know who they are, that you should never meet anyone you meet online, that talking to other people with mental health problems is a bad idea etc etc, but I have never found any of this to be remotely true. I started meeting up with people I met online, on theatre and dance messageboards, when I was 16, and have since met others from all sorts of sites, and whilst I haven't kept in touch with everyone I have met from the Internet, I have met some of my closest friends online, and I can quite honestly say that I think it would be very unlikely that I would still be alive if it weren't for people I have met online - both those in person, and those who have supported me on here. The support is absolutely invaluable, and I wish more people would realise how wonderfully supportive the Internet can be. Here is a picture of my beautiful flowers;

Useless friend

I feel like a shit friend today. A friend of mine, who I met during Carousel, is moving to London next weekend as she has got a job there. I didn't really get to know her very well until probably the week before the show - that was a strange show to rehearse, as I was only in the long dance scene, and then two other scenes, so until a couple of weeks before the show the only other cast members I really had much to do with were the people playing my parents, as they were who my scenes were with, the dancers and children who were in the ballet scene, and some of the other principals because you tend to get to know them at initial read throughs etc. So I had spoken to her a few times, but that was about it I think. Then on the day of the tech rehearsal between the band call and tech rehearsal, five of us, including her, went out for lunch, and we got on well and during show week chatted a fair bit, and talked online, and then a week or two after the show finished she came over one day etc. I haven't seen her since then, which would have been early November, but we have continued to chat online. Anyway, because she is moving tonight she was having a farewell drinks thing. It wasn't a massive thing - she had invited quite a few people, both people from Carousel, and friends of hers that I didn't know, but I don't think that many people were going. She told me about it weeks ago, and although I felt a bit anxious, as plans were all a bit vague and I find that stressful, I had intended to go. But then this week has been so hideous that I just couldn't face it. And the pub people were meeting at is always packed, so she didn't even know if they would be able to get in there, or if they would have to find someone else, and I just cannot do busy places, and on a Friday night pretty much everywhere is going to be busy. I would have liked to see her, and the girl who played my mother in Carousel, who is a really wonderful person, whom I also haven't seen since November, was also going, and it would have been nice to see her, but I hate anywhere crowded, and although I would probably have tried to go had I been feeling better, there was just absolutely no way that it was going to happen this week. But I feel like a really shit friend for not going, because she told me about it so many weeks ago, and I just feel like she must hate me. I spoke to her online earlier and said that I was really sorry but that I wasn't going to be able to make it - she does know that I have mental health problems, although I don't talk about them in depth with her, and when I last spoke to her a few days ago I did say that I wasn't doing very well depression wise at the moment, and so when I spoke to her today I apologised and said that was why. She said it was fine but I still feel guilty.

Then something happened with another friend today that also made me feel really guilty and like a shit friend. I have a friend who I have talked about on here before a few times - the last time would have been when she came to stay in October, and she was also here in July. Anyway, I will henceforth call her E, as I realised I don't have a name for her. She has been severely anorexic for years now, and has spent a long time inpatient as a result of it, but was really very ill both times I saw her last year. She was on the waiting list for inpatient again, but comes from Ireland, where the system is very different, and there seem to be far too few ED beds for the number of patients, as there were something like 3 beds and 12 girls waiting for them. Anyway, when she was over in October she was talking a lot about wanting to get better, and hoping a bed would come up soon for her, but then soon after she went home she actually started doing much better. She was eating more, and managed to cut down a lot on the amount she was purging, and the number of laxatives she was taking, and was starting to gain weight. I was concerned that she would get to BMI 15.5/16ish and then hit a brick wall, as I know that is the point she has managed to get to several times in hospital, and has then relapsed, and I was worried because they took her off the IP waiting list as she was doing so well. Unfortunately it went more or less as I predicted - her BMI was high 15s before December, and she was really struggling with it and starting to cut back, and since then she has been finding it really hard, and has lost some weight again, although I don't know how much, and then the last couple of weeks has been feeling increasingly depressed. I spoke to her last night and was quite concerned, as she did seem low, although I didn't get the impression she was actively suicidal, although I may have been wrong, but she was certainly feeling bad and struggling a lot with her eating, and was back into her old patterns really. She was due to see her psychiatrist today, and she said she would be honest with them and tell them what was going on, and when I spoke to her this afternoon she had been admitted - not a long term ED admission, but a short term admission to try and lift her mood, and also stabilise her eating a little if possible. I had simultaneous thoughts - I was pleased that she was getting help, because I have felt for a long time like she needs it, although I don't think a short term admission like this is the answer, and I was glad she was safe, but at the same time I felt jealous. I feel terrible for saying that, because she needed help, and I am pleased she got it, but at the same time I don't understand why it often seems so simple for other people to access more help when they are struggling, and yet I never can. I am not saying I would want to be in hospital - it is always something I feel very ambivalent about, but when I spoke to her she said how it was a relief to have a break, and that just hit me really hard. I just felt like crying. Suicide is still my preferred option, but as at least a temporary alternative a break would be really bloody good right now. I am just too exhausted to keep going like this, and I feel like if I look at the short term I either need a break or I need to kill myself. Admittedly the local NHS psych ward wouldn't actually be my place of choice for a break even if it were an option, but I don't know. I guess I just feel so desperate, and this week has felt more horrific than I can even express, and so anything feels like it would be better than this. As I said, it isn't an option anyway, and if it were then I am sure I would refuse, as there have been multiple times in the past when I have been offered admission and turned it down - the only times I have been in hospital were voluntary admissions, but I wasn't actually given a choice about going. I just couldn't help feeling jealous knowing that E saw her psychiatrist today and was admitted, when it doesn't matter how much I struggle, or how desperate I am, I just seem to be left to do. But I feel really guilty, and like such an awful friend, not to mention really quite weird, for feeling jealous that E has been admitted to a psych ward. I suppose I just really am so desperate that even something I would usually avoid at all costs seems like a better alternative right now.

I spoke to L earlier. I rung and asked to speak to her, and they said she was with someone but they would get her to call me back. When three hours had passed and I still hadn't heard anything from her I was starting to give up, but she did call back. I didn't feel able to really say how bad things were - I tried, but at times like this it seems that the words don't even exist. "depressed" "suicidal" "desperate" "hopeless" - none of them actually even begin to convey how horrific it feels. It is slightly easier when I can ramble at length, rather than trying to form coherent sentences, but I don't believe the words exist to fully explain the extent of these feelings. I did try - I said it had been a really awful week and that I was feeling very depressed and was completely unable to distract myself, and that my sleep was awful and essentially that I just couldn't cope. She said more or less all she could I suppose - to try and plan my time and do things to distract myself, and to keep writing things down, and that we could talk about it on Tuesday. It just feels so futile. Talking about it on Tuesday won't make any difference whatsoever. I don't even want to be alive by Tuesday, although I probably will be I suppose. But it won't change anything. I am feeling really disillusioned with everything at the moment. I just see absolutely no way forward from here, and I don't view continuing to feel like this as an option, which once again leads me back to suicide. Even when I try not to think about it, it always pops up as being the solution. The right thing to do. The answer. Maybe it is. I don't think my brain would push it so hard, and so continuously, for so many years unless it was the right course of action. Brains are supposed to have survival instinct, but mine just tells me to kill myself.

Happy Birthday Blog!

Today is my blog's 1st Birthday! I would really like to thank everyone who has read and commented over the last year. Starting this blog was one of the best decisions I have made in recent years - I have met so many really incredible people, and I am so thankful to know all of you. I would never have dreamed when I started this blog a year ago, just as a place for me to write about how I was feeling, that I would get so many readers, and that I would end up feeling so close to my fellow bloggers. So thank you all very much for your support over the last year - I genuinely have no idea where I would be if it wasn't for all of the support and understanding I have received from readers of this blog, both here on the blog, and on Twitter, Facebook, and via email and MSN - people staying up half the night to support me through bad times by talking to me, or leaving me comments, or just checking in on me when things haven't been great. It really does mean more than I can say, and whilst it sounds somewhat melodramatic to say I don't know where I would be without it, I really don't. This really has turned into one of my main sources of support, or at least the people I have met via it has, and there are definitely times I don't know if I would have managed to get through without the support. I couldn't wish for a more caring and compassionate online support network, and you all mean so much to me. Thank you so much for everything.

Childhood Part 3

From the time when my dad moved out when I was 12, things continued in the same way for quite a few years. He would come over some evenings. He would come on holiday with us, and stay for a while over Christmas. At some point he started spending the weekends here. Then there would be times when I wouldn't see him for a couple of months because of my mum or I getting upset about it all and cutting contact with him. Neither he, nor my mother, were seeing anyone else. It was a fairly strange relationship, as it was so uneven. My mum desperately wanted him back, and so everything was on his terms. He came over when he wanted, but if he wanted to do something else instead then he would, and my mum would get upset, which would generally lead to a period of her not wanting to see him. If she didn't want to see him then I generally didn't see him either. I hated going to his flat - I only did it a handful of times over a period of about 6 years. I didn't like seeing that he had his own life away from us, and I didn't feel comfortable there. So generally either he came here, or I didn't see him.

At 16 I finished school and went of to 6th Form College to do A levels. It was a relief to leave H and co. behind - I don't think I have seen anyone from my year group since I left school over 8 years ago, apart from briefly bumping into a couple of people, including her. Maybe she is a nicer person now. I hope so. I did ok in my GCSEs, but didn't get the results I should have got, because I did no revision. That is something of a pattern for me. I think my fear of failure is so intense that I take it the opposite way and work on the premise that if I haven't tried then it doesn't matter if I have failed or done badly, whereas if I worked really hard and still didn't do as well as I should then I would have no excuse - I would just be a failure.

Anyway, 6th Form College was a much better experience than school in many ways. It was literally 10 times the size in terms of student population, and obviously they were all aged 16 - 19, rather than 4 - 16 like my school had been, so there were rather more people in a year group at college - about 50 times more.... C was going to the same 6th Form, and I also knew a couple of other people, through performing, who were going there, but that was it. Oh, and a guy from my school, but I rarely saw him. In theory everything should have improved for me in college. I had friends, and obviously I was studying the subjects I wanted to etc. And in some ways it was great. I had some really good teachers, one of whom I am still in contact with now - he came to see me in Carousel. The main problem with it was that I didn't want to be there. In the summer between finishing school and starting 6th Form, I had done a 2 week Musical Theatre summer course at one of the drama schools in London, and absolutely loved it, and therefore resented going off to study academic subjects when I wanted to be doing performing. I wished I was doing a Musical Theatre BTEC rather than A levels, so that I could be doing what I wanted to do. In retrospect I am glad I did A levels, and I don't think my parents would have let me not do them anyway, but it resulted in once again my attendance being pretty poor, because I couldn't be bothered with it, and so that, combined with not doing any work that didn't absolutely have to be done, and not doing any revision at all, meant that I finished my first year with pretty poor results. I didn't dislike college - as I have said, I had friends there, I enjoyed some of my lessons. I was very fortunate in that the Head of Music/Performing Arts seemed to think the sun shone from my arse, and so I got quite a few opportunities in that area. I was in the college choir, and got all the solos - I sung the Once In Royal solo 3 years running at the carol service (yes, I stayed 3 years - more on that later), as well as various other solos. I was always asked to perform in all of the concerts, and to record songs for the music tech students etc. In my 3rd year they did Les Miserables, and I pretty much got to choose my role, although that was actually a new member of staff directing that who had never taught me. We had a couple of auditions, and then were waiting ages for them to decide casting, and one day I asked if they had cast it yet, because I said I wanted to include it in my UCAS personal statement, and wanted to be able to say what part I was playing (oh the arrogance!) and got the reply, 'well we haven't finished casting yet, but I am assuming you would like Eponine as you sung On My Own in your audition?' I said I would please, and that was that settled. College gave me a confidence in my abilities that school never had - in college there were 2000 people, all of my age, and yet I was the one who got the solos and the leads, and who the staff knew, even if they didn't teach me. At school there was a lot of nepotism going on with casting, and so I never got leads, despite being the only person who regularly performed out of school (and regularly was cast in leads there). So college was good for making me realise I must be better than school had lead me to believe. My first year of college was fairly uneventful. I went to lessons some of the time, stayed home some of the time, did some of the work, didn't do some of the work. I was still doing dance and singing lessons outside of college, and some shows, although I had started doing less by that time.

I had just started my second year of college, and so was just 17 when the next thing happened in my home life. My mum picked me up from the bus one day and was very upset - she had received an anonymous text message saying that my dad had been seeing someone for a year and that she should divorce him. It turned out that it was true - we never did know for sure who sent it, although the assumption was that his girlfriend (another 25 year old who worked for him) had got the number off his phone and sent it, although she denied it. Whilst he wasn't living at home, and it was now 5 years since he had moved out, he hadn't seen anyone in that time to our knowledge, apart from the initial affair, and had generally spent quite a lot of time at our house and with us. Of course in retrospect we realised that for the last year he hadn't been spending weekends with us like he had been before that, and that he had been coming over less often, but since everything always had been on his terms anyway, we hadn't really questioned it before. I was very upset - not that he was seeing someone, but that he had been lying to us for over a year. It really hurt me a lot, and I think made me lose a lot of trust in not only him, but people generally. I still can't comprehend how and why he would lie like that for so long - it wasn't like he was living here - they were separated, and had been for quite a few years. My mum was absolutely devastated. As I said, she always wanted to be with him, and this news was just too much for her. She refused to tell anyone - she wouldn't even tell her friends or my siblings initially. She kept saying how ashamed she felt and how stupid she was for not knowing, and how if people knew they would laugh at her and think she was stupid. I think that for her too it was more about the secrecy, and not knowing than it was him seeing someone else, although obviously that hurt her too. Yet again, he broke up with her once we had found out. So we were back to keeping secrets (although we had never actually stopped) but this time it was just the two of us, as there were no siblings or friends or counsellors involved this time. And it really was role reversal - she was so upset, and had absolutely nobody to talk to apart from me, and so I listened to it all. Obviously I was older by this point, but she was really leaning on me quite heavily, and I couldn't rely on her at all emotionally. And I started to crumble. Not in front of her. I didn't let her know how much I was struggling. But I was struggling more and more. My mood was low and I started purging frequently.

I had a really great teacher at college who I started talking to. She was really supportive, and for a while I talked to her every week. I suppose really she was the first person I ever talked to about anything emotional at all - I had just never talked about feelings before to anyone. She was really helpful - without her I don't know if I would have gone on to get other help. She listened, and she got me information and a self help book for bulimia. She was also the one who encouraged me to go to my GP to get help (who gave me anti depressants and referred me to the CMHT), and also to see the college counsellor in the meantime. I was very attached to her. I think my issues with attachment can be attributed in some ways to my relationship with my parents, although as I said before, even when I was very young I was very possessive with friends, so perhaps it has always been in my nature. But it was after my dad left when I was 12 that I started getting really attached to people. Never men - it has always been women, who I suppose I see as maternal figures, who I have become attached to. I feel like it should be men, since it was my dad who left and wasn't there for me, but I suppose emotionally I wasn't getting what I needed from my mum, and therefore begun to look for it elsewhere. There have been a number of people I have grown very attached to - wanting to be around them all the time, and for them to care about me and look after me, and I suppose essentially to parent me. It is weird because my mum and I have always been very close, and yet I have always had these fantasies of whoever it is I am attached to at the time (only ever one at a time) taking me home to live with them. But I suppose it is due to my mum not being there for me emotionally when I needed her, because she was struggling so much herself. Maybe that is why even now I find it very difficult to talk to her about how I am feeling. I think I can also attribute my eating problems to my parents to some extent. My parents have very different relationships with food. My mum is tiny, but eats a lot of food, a lot of which is crap, and by rights should be enormous. She rarely weighs herself, and doesn't understand why I don't just eat what she does - she can't seem to comprehend that her metabolism is not normal. My dad is much more careful about what he eats - he is a healthy weight, but he weighs himself daily, and hates it if his weight goes up, and will cut out unhealthier foods until it goes back to where he wants it to be. As a teenager he used to frequently comment on my weight, and suggest that I should try to lose weight, frequently citing my career choice as the reason why I needed to be smaller. He doesn't do that any more, probably because I haven't been as big as I was as a teenager, although even then we were still talking healthy BMI range, just nearer the higher end of it. But he does still ask me how my weight is, and will make comments about what I am eating sometimes. As a family they (we?) are very sizeist - I have grown up with negative comments about overweight people etc, so I think that, along with comments about my own weight, coupled with a desperate need to feel in control of something when my life felt so out of control, was really fairly likely to lead to an eating disorder.

Despite my mental health problems, my second year of college was better than my first year in many ways. I think primarily because I felt safe there - it filled the same space for as rehearsals had when I was younger and my dad first left - it was somewhere to escape to. I suppose in a large part because college contained the only person I really trusted to talk to - at this point I had been referred to the CMHT, and at some point during the year had an assessment there, and was then on the waiting list for the rest of that year. My attendance was better, and although I was having problems concentrating, I actually did better than I had in my first year, although still not nearly as well as I should have. And then my second year came to an end, I had A Levels, and I didn't have a clue what to do next. I was terrified of leaving college, because that was where my only support was. I had no plans to go on to university or anything. And in the end I just couldn't face leaving. So I stayed on an extra year. I retook the first year of English Lit, because I had got 2 grades higher for my second year than I got in my first year, and then I took both the first and second year of Sociology at the same time, so that I got an A level in a year. I also worked part time at the college, as a Learning Support Assistant. Just before my third year started, I started seeing a Clinical Psychologist at the CMHT, primarily for help with my eating disorder, although during the year my mood got worse and worse, until I attempted suicide at the end of the year. This academic year was 2004/2005, and so was 6 years after my dad had first moved out, in 1998, and 1 or 2 years after we found out he had been seeing someone again, in 2003. During this time he had started spending more and more time back at home - staying there more often, and by some point in 2005 he was more or less living back at home, although he still kept his flat, and spent occasional nights there. But he was back home. The perfect fairytale ending right? And they all lived happily ever after....

I do not by any means think that my problems now are caused by my parents splitting up. As I said before, I don't think things were quite right when I was even younger than that. But I do think it probably exacerbated matters. I find it really difficult to admit that my parents splitting up could have even contributed slightly to me having mental health problems now. What is the statistic - half of all marriages end in divorce or something like that? And people go through much worse and don't end up with a slew of psychiatric diagnoses, which makes me think that either I must be really pathetic, other people must be really strong, or my problems come from absolutely nowhere, and it is absolutely nothing to do with my parents. I flit from one view to another depending on my mood. But I can see that L had a point when she said how difficult it must have been having to keep it all a secret, and having to try and contain my emotions to avoid upsetting my mum. That was difficult, and probably isn't a typical experience of parents' splitting up, although of course I don't know for sure. I almost feel guilty for having mental health problems when I have been through so little in comparison to other people. Ok, my parents split up, but so what? That is hardly uncommon. And apart from that I had a good childhood. I got to do whatever activities I wanted, I had a good education, I was loved and looked after. I certainly was never abused in any way, or neglected, or anything else terrible. Nothing bad happened to me. And yet here I am, at age 24, with 7 years in the mental health system, multiple suicide attempts, multiple admissions, numerous CPNs and Psychiatrists and other professionals, medications, etc etc. I feel ashamed of myself for being so weak. For having these problems, when others go through so much worse and yet cope so much better. I really do feel guilty when I think about it. I don't understand why I am in the position I am in, when there has been nothing serious in my life to cause me to feel like this. I can see that my teenage years weren't perfect, but they were not bad enough to lead to this. So what is wrong with me? I have absolutely no idea.

Childhood Part 2

A lot happened between the ages of about 9 and 12. My brother moved out, to move in with his now wife. Although obviously before that he was out a lot with friends and at work etc, I do remember being upset when he moved out. My maternal grandfather, who I was very close to, died when I was 9 or 10. I remember going to see him in hospital, but he wasn't the person I knew really. And then he died. I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral because my parents didn't agree with children being at funerals. I was sent to C's house for the day to play. I have a vague recollection of playing in the garden with her, but feeling upset about my grandad dying, and everyone apart from me being at the funeral. My paternal grandmother died a few years later (I am very hazy about dates throughout my childhood). I hadn't been close to her - she lived further away and I only remember seeing her about once a year. My mum and I went to see her in hospital, but I don't remember anything about it, I just remember going. My dad was in Japan on a business trip when she died, and was still away for the funeral. I remember he wrote a poem which my mum read out at the funeral. I was allowed to go to that one. I suppose I was that bit older. I don't remember much about it.

The main thing that happened in my childhood was my parents splitting up when I was 12. I remember that quite vividly. I remember seeing my mum upset a few times, and my dad comforting her, but I didn't know why. Then one day, I was at C's house, and my mum called and told me to come home. I didn't want to because her cousins were there, and we were all having a good time, but she insisted. I went home and my parents told me that my dad was moving out. I was incredibly upset. I had absolutely no idea that there were any problems - it was completely out of the blue. My parents were the type of people who everyone expected to be together forever, so it was a complete shock. I remember getting very upset, and I remember my mum getting very upset. She phoned my brother and he came over. I was told initially it was just going to be for a few days, to give them some time apart, and I believed that. My dad took some things off and went to stay in a hotel. For some reason, they must have decided it would be a good idea if I went with him for the evening and went home later. I think my mum was too upset to look after me. So I went off to this hotel with him, and I suppose I went home later that night, although I don't remember. I have only just remembered that he took me with him. Obviously it wasn't just for a few days. He started looking for somewhere to rent. I went shopping with him one day and helped him buy things he would need - I remember choosing a duvet cover for him. It all feels quite surreal. Again, I am unsure why they thought it was a good idea for me to go shopping with him to buy things for his new home, when I was still being told it was temporary - it had just been changed from a few days, to a few weeks, to a few months. I was told at some point, I can't remember when, that he had been having an affair with a girl who worked for him. I say girl, because that was how I thought of her. I think she was about the age I am now. It had been going on for some time, but nobody knew. As soon as he had moved out, he broke up with her anyway. I never met her.

My sister had been at university in Edinburgh, but was upset by my parents splitting up, and took a year out and moved back home. I am not entirely sure why it affected her so much, as it wasn't her dad - my siblings have a different father to me, and although she always got on fine with my dad, she had never called him dad or anything like that - she never thought of him as her parent. But she did come home, and her attitude towards me had completely reversed. When I was a young child she had been besotted with me, and spoilt me. As I got older she was still very fond of me, and when she was living in London she used to take me there and we would go to a museum or something, and she took me to the ballet once, and the theatre another time. She used to buy me lots. I went to stay with her twice in Edinburgh. We were always close. But when she moved back for the year when I was 12/13 her attitude had completely changed. That was the point where she started having issues with me. She would say that I was a spoilt brat and a little witch and just generally wasn't very nice to me most of the time. I certainly never, ever had any support or understanding from her.

Parents splitting up is nothing unusual - it is so common for couples to split up, and children just seem to deal with it. But I think in a lot of ways I didn't. I think there are a few reasons for this. Firstly, it was not a straight forward case of parents not getting on and fighting, one moving out, then getting a divorce a little later. In fact, that couldn't have been much further from what happened. There had been no fighting, or certainly not that I had ever witnessed, and our house is not so big that I wouldn't have heard screaming matches. The separation itself was I suppose unusual to say the least. Despite my dad having an affair, my mum still loved him and did not want him to leave. And they still got on. As I have already said, I was told initially that is was just going to be a few days, then that time period gradually extended. But it was always assumed they would get back together - this was just temporary, and there was never any talk of divorce or anything. I think that my mum had convinced herself it was temporary, which meant she could easily tell me that. However, as it was a temporary thing and they had not actually split up, that meant that we didn't tell other people. For years. Obviously a few people knew - family, and a couple of friends of my parents, and C and her family. But that was about it. It was all very secretive. My mum was devastated by him leaving. She didn't cope well with it at all. I remember her losing quite a lot of weight, and she is naturally very tiny anyway, and being prescribed anti depressants. She went to see a counsellor. They tried couple counselling a couple of times, but my dad was very against it, and so it only happened a couple of times. Apart from a couple of my mum's friends who knew, and this counsellor who encouraged her to punch cushions, she didn't really have anyone to talk to, so sometimes she used to talk to me. We were very close, but of course I was only 12, and I didn't understand why my dad had moved out when my parents got on so well, and everyone had assumed they would be together forever. I never told anyone about my dad leaving. My mum worked where I went to school, so nobody there knew, until one day in a PHSE class when there was something about divorce etc being discussed and I had to leave because I was feeling very upset. My mum then told my form tutor, who said she would avoid talking about that in PHSE again, but still nobody else knew.

To everyone else we kept up the facade of being a happy family. I don't know why. After my dad left, in some ways things didn't change much. He used to come over and see us some evenings and weekends. He still came on holidays with us. He always came and stayed for the Christmas period. I have never had a Christmas or holiday without both of them being there, despite my dad not living with us. I have friends who I didn't even meet until years after my dad who had left who thought that my parents were together, because my dad would come and stay when needed, and they would still do things together. My dad phoned every day and spoke to both my mum and I. The few people who did know that they had split up said how lucky I was that my parents still got on so well, and that he still spent so much time with us, but actually I think it was just really confusing. At first of course it just perpetuated my belief that this was a very short term arrangement. Later I didn't really know what was going on. Sometimes there would be a period when either my mum or I would get angry with him, and refuse to speak to or see him, sometimes for weeks, sometimes for months. If I was still speaking to him but my mum wasn't then he would take me out, although I only remember that happening a handful of times. If I wasn't speaking to him but my mum was then they would still talk on the phone but he wouldn't come over. If neither of us were speaking to him then obviously that was that.

One of my strongest memories of that period in the first year or so after he left, or perhaps longer, was of how incredibly distressed I used to get when he came over for the evening and then left. He would come over, and we would all be getting on fine, and it would just seem normal. And then he would leave. I think pretty much without fail this made my hysterically upset. I used to sob for hours. I remember trying to chase the car up the road as he drove away, crying hysterically. When I was really upset I used to lie down in the road outside the house. My mum used to try to get me inside in case someone saw me. She used to cry as well. We would both just cry inconsolably sometimes. And most of the time he was coming over at least a couple of times a week, unless it was a not speaking to him period. So it was an emotional time. It was at this time, when I was 12, that I first remember wishing I was dead. I wasn't suicidal, and I certainly wouldn't have acted on the thoughts, but I do remember thinking it.

I was also increasingly unhappy at school. Probably partly because I was unhappy generally, and partly because I was being bullied. Not badly - it wasn't physical or anything. But I didn't have any friends. I went to a very small school, with very small year groups and classes. From age 13 or 14 onwards there were only 5 girls in my year - before that there were maybe 3 more. One was H. The one who used to lock me in her bedroom when I was little. H was a bully - there is no denying it. When we were younger, up to the age of 11, there had been far more girls, and there was a little clique of popular girls, who could be quite nasty, and did tease her, although I always stuck up for her, despite her not always being nice to me. However, they all left at 11 to go to other schools, and somehow, when we started back at school in September, she was the leader of our year group. I have no idea how that happened, but she had a very strong personality, and somehow just took over. She didn't like me. She made best friends with the one remaining girl of the clique who had previously bullied her - this girl was actually quite nice, but rather sheep like, and would just follow others. Throughout school from 11 to 16 I was very lonely. Some days would be ok, but other times I would just get constantly teased. I was very naive and young for my age, and one of the things H liked to do to embarrass me was stand there with everyone around her and ask me what certain words and phrases meant - about sex or drugs, or other things I just knew nothing about. Of course I never knew, and then everyone would laugh at me. And then the usual childish name calling. Despite not doing much in the way of work at school and perpetually leaving things until the last possible minute, I still did well, and so got the usual 'boffin' comments etc. And things like making sure I didn't have anyone to sit with in class whenever possible, and obviously staying away from me at break and lunch times. Nothing major by any means, but all things that were upsetting and confusing to me as an 11 - 15 year old child. Particularly as some days she would suddenly turn and be nice to me and ask me to sit with her and things like that. I never knew where I was. My attendance rate at school got worse and worse. More and more illnesses - some real, some minor but exaggerated, some psychosomatic, and some just faked. I was at an age where I could actually stay home from school rather than go and spend the day in the sick bed, so it was even more appealing.

In restrospect, when I look back I am quite confused by some things that did, or didn't happen. A lot of it feels very painful to think about, but I feel pathetic for thinking that, because so many people go through such horrific things, and parents splitting up should surely not have affected me at all in the long term? But when I was talking about it with L she pointed out that actually it was probably quite traumatic for me, as a 12 year old, to be in such a confusing situation, and to have to keep it all a secret. During the appointment, when we were talking about it, I would get little flashes of vivid memories, and some of them were really quite painful. I remember one day being at a friend's house to play, and her mum was one of the few people who knew that my parents had split up, and I remember her asking me how my mum was and how she was coping, and me just desperately wanting her to ask ME how I was, and how I was coping. But nobody ever did. My parents obviously knew what a state I was in, as they saw it. My siblings never once asked how I was. And apart from that very few people knew, and those who did only thought about my mum - after all, it was her and my dad who had split up, not me. It was nothing to do with me. Except of course it was. But I never had anyone to talk to. My mum had her counsellor she used to go and see, and even my dad saw the counsellor a few times on his own, because my mum wanted him to, but I never had anyone to talk to. I was never asked if I wanted to talk to a counsellor or anything, and there wasn't a school counsellor, and even if there had been I wouldn't have been able to speak to them because it was a secret of course, and my mum worked there, which also ruled out talking to any teachers. I remember one time when I was particularly upset my mum asking if there was someone I would like to talk to, and suggested a couple of people I knew from performing. I said that maybe it would help to talk to this one girl (although in retrospect it wouldn't have been fair - she is only 5 or 6 years older than me, so would have only been 17 or 18 at the time, although of course that seems completely grown up when you are 12) because her parents had split up when she was younger so she would understand. And my mum got very upset and started crying because I had said about this other girl having parents who had split up too, because of course my parents hadn't split up - it was a temporary arrangement remember? And so she got very upset and left my room, and me talking to someone was never mentioned again. So I learnt to bottle everything up. Because actually, I didn't have a choice. Of course I could talk to my mum, but that just resulted in her getting upset every time, so that didn't help at all. I was angry with my dad. My siblings didn't seem to care, or even think about me. And the few other people who knew would ask about my mum, but not about me. And there was no option of counselling or anything like that. So I learnt to put on a happy face, and started developing my happy mask. Looking back on it now, I don't know why my mum thought that she needed a counsellor, and that my dad needed a counsellor, but that I didn't need anyone. It seems strange in retrospect that she could see my lying in the middle of the road sobbing hysterically and not think I perhaps needed to speak to someone. But I think she was genuinely in such denial about the whole thing that it didn't even occur to her. My dad had just moved out for a little while, and would be coming back, and so maybe she thought there was nothing to talk about. I don't know. But I think that actually it would have helped me to speak to someone - both then, and further down the line. Because of course by the time I got older I had become an absolute pro at keeping my mouth shut and keeping everything bottled up, and not telling anyone anything, and never mentioning feelings or emotions, that I think I had become completely detached from my emotions and how I actually felt, and so consequently found therapy virtually impossible.

There is more to come in the saga of my parents' relationship and my childhood/adolescence, but this is quite long enough already, and I am feeling vaguely emotional, although I don't know why, so yet again I will continue this tomorrow....

Childhood Part 1

So, my childhood. I didn't talk about all of this with L, but I decided I wanted to write about all of it, to put it into context. My childhood memories are fairly sketchy. I only remember odd bits here and there. I have no memories from when I was very young, and really very few before the age of about 10. And even after that, I know certain situations happened etc, but I don't remember how I felt about them or anything. So a lot of it is quite hazy.

I always think of myself as having a happy childhood, and I think it was overall, and certainly was compared to the experiences of many others, which means I am always reluctant to criticise it in any way. But there were downsides. For a start, I never fitted in. From as far back as I can remember I just didn't fit in with most other children. I was more comfortable with adult company, which is probably unsurprising, given that I have 3 older siblings, and the closest of those to me in age is 12 years older than me. So I was used to being around adults the majority of the time. When I was young, and I am thinking back from when I was very young up to about the age of 11 or so, I was probably what Lexie would refer to as a 'pretend child'. I spent hours and hours sitting reading. I would wander around stately homes and gardens with my parents. I was always beautifully dressed. Overall I was pretty well behaved. Which is lucky really, because punishing me generally consisted of sending me to my room, where I would become engrossed in a book, and when told I could go back downstairs reply that I was ok in my bedroom reading thank you. I went to dance classes, and was a Brownie, and had riding lessons. I did well at school. I was intelligent. I had a reading age far higher than my actual age. I got all my spellings right. I think I was generally fairly amenable, although my parents may say otherwise of course... I got on well with my parents. I got on well with my siblings. My sister (yes, the one who now hates me) absolutely doted on me as a young child. So in that sense I was a good child, with a happy childhood.

The less positive things were that as I mentioned, I never really fitted in with my peers - probably because of being a pretend child. I had a best friend (whom I will refer to as C for this post), who I met when I was 4, who lived just down the road from me, and we were at school together until I moved school after a couple of years. I was very possessive over her. I wanted her to play with me the whole time. I wasn't interested in playing with any of the other children - she was my best friend, and she was the only person I wanted to play with. I don't remember it, but I apparently used to come home from school incredibly upset if she had been playing with other people instead of me. Early attachment issues, or is that too psychoanalytical? There was another girl at that school (who will be referred to as H for this post) whose mother used to look after me after school when my mother was working, and when I switched schools, she also switched half a term later. She was a very strong character. A bully essentially. Again, I don't remember it, but apparently sometimes when I would go there after school she would lock me in her bedroom and leave me in there and not let me out. Sometimes she would be nice to me. Other times she wouldn't. When I moved school at 7, I left C behind, although I still saw her a lot, and whilst I got on fine with the children at my new school, again, I didn't really fit in. I wasn't 'cool' in any way. I was certainly not one of the popular girls. I would try and tag onto some of the other less popular girls, but I remember often finding myself alone. I was also ill a lot - I had a lot of problems with my ears - constant ear infections, multiple burst eardrums, various other infections. I spent an awful lot of my childhood on antibiotics. My mum generally used to still send me into school when I was ill, as she worked there, and I was too young to stay home alone, so I either went to lessons, or if I was really ill I went to the sick bay. I didn't enjoy school though. From a fairly young age I remember exaggerating how ill I felt to try and get out of going to class. I remember pushing near the bottom of my neck to make me retch so that my mum would think I was sick. I am not sure why I didn't want to go to school, as it wasn't like I struggled with the work or anything, and it was a nice school. I just didn't want to go.

I have also had issues with food my entire life. Not an eating disorder, but I have always been an incredibly fussy eater, to the point where it has interfered with my life. In some ways I am slightly better now with that, but overall the foods I will eat now aren't very different to those I would eat as a child. When I was inpatient on an eating disorder programme they said I had always had disordered eating because of how fussy I was. I don't know whether or not this is true, or what is behind it, or if it contributed to my eating disorder in later life, but there have certainly always been issues surrounding food. I was always very attached to my mum. I suppose most children are, but I didn't like her being out or away from me. I would stay the night with friends, but I remember getting into a terrible state when I went on Brownie camp once. I absolutely hated it. I was horribly home sick, I had issues with most of the food, and I just wanted to be at home. The whole time felt like torture, and all the other children were having a great time. Obviously none of these things were major problems. Ok, I didn't really fit in with my peers and was teased a bit, but most kids are. And I was happy at home as far as I can remember.

Up to this point I would consider myself to have had a happy childhood. Although if I look back on it I can see signs that maybe things weren't quite right even that early on, ie up to the age of 11. But I don't know if that is just going into the realms of navel gazing. But things like being very attached to certain people, and feigning or exaggerating illness to avoid school, when actually there was no reason to not want to go that I can see do strike me as not being quite right. I also always had a need to please people - generally adults rather than peers. But there have always been issues with relationships I suppose. And of course issues with food. There was no reason for me to be unhappy, but I wouldn't say that I was happy, and I don't know why. Maybe there has always been something wrong, although I don't know what. But overall everything in my life was pretty simple up to this point, and there was no reason for me to be unhappy. It was after that that things became more complicated, but I will finish writing that tomorrow, as the more I write the more flashes of memory are coming back, and I need some time to process them. There was nothing I would consider to be traumatic, or anything more than an awful lot of children go through, and not nearly as bad as lots, but I still feel like I need to write about it. The appointment with L yesterday got me thinking a lot, but I will go into more detail regarding that tomorrow.

Dinner

I think I do have a chest infection. I decided that coughing up green nasty stuff is not good, so phoned and asked to speak to my GP. They got her to call me back, and she said she would send a script down to the chemist for antibiotics. So I will get them tomorrow. Which is leaving it rather late for Sunday, but there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. The Sudafed is definitely helping with the congestion generally - I have gone through far, far less tissues today than I did yesterday or Wednesday, so that is something!

I went out for dinner with a friend tonight. It was the friend I was supposed to go out for lunch with weeks ago ago, and then I cancelled because I was getting stressed about eating out at lunch time etc. She texted me earlier and said she was free tonight and did I want to go out for something to eat. I wasn't sure whether to or not, I didn't know if I fancied eating out (well, I rarely fancy out, but I wasn't sure if I felt up to it) plus of course I am not feeling great physically, but she isn't often free, so I decided I would. We went out about 8, and I hadn't eaten anything all day, so it was easier than if I had already had a meal. I actually managed to eat a 2 course meal without even trying to go to the toilets and purge, which is unusual for me. I usually at least go to the toilets and then if they are empty I purge and if there are people in there I don't, but I didn't even go near them, so that was good. I knew I really couldn't purge, since I already have a sore throat, and purging always hurts my voice, and more damage is the last thing I need right now. Which is one of the reasons I wasn't sure about eating out, but I managed it. It was nice to see her. Despite her living down the road, I hadn't seen her since August, which is kind of ridiculous really, but she works during the day, and then in the evening I am often out at rehearsals or dance classes, and she is often busy, so there just rarely seems to be time when we are free. So yes, it was good to catch up with her.

Draining

Today has been tiring again. I slept all morning. Woke up and the house was bloody freezing. The lounge is the only room with any heat at all, as we have had the wood burner alight, but the rest of the house is really cold, and even the lounge isn't very warm. Hate the cold. Really hope the oil arrives soon.

London was ok. Going in the car and just going straight to the theatre and then back again made it less stressful I think, because it wasn't like I had to negotiate public transport or lots of crowds or anything so it wasn't really like being in London. I did find it difficult, becuase I find it so hard at the moment to keep up a facade all of the time when I am feeling so awful. It is really tiring. I sat watching the cabaret that we had gone to see, but I couldn't focus on it at all - I just kept thinking about suicide and dying, and planning things in my head.

The suicidal thoughts aren't getting any weaker at all. It is so draining. A couple of people have suggested I contact L, but I really don't want to do that. I feel like for there to be any chance of me going back to trusting her the way that I used to I need to wait for her to contact me. She knows how bad things are, and either she contacts me, or she doesn't. And either way that will tell me something. If I contact her then I will never know what would have happened if I had just left it. I would be lying if I said I wasn't hurt by her not contacting me last week when she knew how desperate I was feeling, and I am really quite confused about the whole thing. I feel like I have done something wrong and that is why she didn't call me, or like she must be fed up with me and therefore not actually care whether I live or die. And that is difficult because I trusted her so completely. I don't know what to think any more. Even if she did contact me over the next few days I am not sure how I would feel about it. I just feel really let down. And I still feel so suicidal. I just don't want to exist any more. I really do hate the thought of hurting people, but I also feel completely unable to cope like this.

Long day

Today has been a difficult and tiring day. It didn't start off well because I slept badly last night. I was really desperate to have a night of sleeping well, so as well as the Diazepam I usually take to try and quieten my head, I also took a Zopiclone. I don't usually have Zopiclone. I had them pretty much every night for about 4 years, so got pretty immune to them, and my psych took me off them because obviously they are supposed to be short term drugs, but sometimes when I am having a lot of trouble sleeping my GP will give me 14, and I have a few from last time, so decided to take one. I thought it was making me sleepy, so I tried to sleep, but realised it actually hadn't so got back up. In the end I did go to sleep, but it was kind of weird - I usually sleep quite well after taking Zopiclone - it may not send me to sleep very well, but it usually stops me waking up. But I woke up several times, and one time I woke up in a real panic - I was hallucinating (I hope) that lots of spiders had bungeed down from the ceiling and were crawling all over me. I am not actually scared of spiders, but I woke up in a panic convinced these spiders were crawling on me and switched on my light and was looking for them, and I remember looking up at the ceiling where they had all been (they hadn't really, but I thought they had) and they had gone, so I thought they must be in my bed and in my pyjamas. And then I couldn't find them so I turned off my light and went back to sleep. It was really quite surreal, because it felt so real, and I don't normally have hallucinations. I am blaming the Zopiclone, but I don't know why it should suddenly do that when I have taken it so many hundreds of times with no problems. I don't take Zolpidem because that made me hear voices when I took it, but never experienced anything weird with Zopiclone before except going into a kind of dissociative period where I often do lots of things I don't remember after, and that's not too bad, except when I spend lots of money on crap. Anyway, I didn't get enough sleep, and it was quite interrupted, and so I woke up exhausted.

I had to go out the house today (cue scary music). I had to go shopping with my mum. I don't like shopping at the best of times, and currently is definitely not the best of times. But we had decided to go a couple of weeks ago as it was totally essential I got something to wear for the concert in 2 weeks (yes, the one I don't want to be alive for). Town was packed, I was exhausted, and I really dislike clothes shopping. I don't understand what is enjoyable about going into one shop, stripping off, trying on a couple of things that will probably look hideous, getting dressed again, going into another shop, repeat ad infinitum... Not fun. And looking in all of those mirrors just makes me feel shitty about myself. I did buy something, but don't know if it will be any good or not. Ended up just having a mini melt down in Debenhams. I had been in there first, and then lots of other shops, and then my mum decided I should go back to Debenhams and get one of the personal shoppers to help me find something, because Debenhams is so bloody confusing. So I went back in, whilst she went off to another shop, and I just freaked out. I was exhausted and stressed and I just couldn't cope and I felt like I was about to burst into tears and make a spectacle of myself, and just ended up perching on the edge of one of the display things on the floor trying not to cry. A sales assistant came over and asked if I was ok, and I obviously had no idea how to reply, so I think I said I wasn't feeling well, so she got a stool from the shoe area for me to sit on, and I waited for my mum arrived and then just begged to go home.

Then we got home, and the house was absolutely freezing, and it turned out we had run out of oil. That always happens on a weekend, without fail. So the house was freezing and that just felt like the last straw and I just came upstairs and cried. I then put on lots of warm clothes and went downstairs as my dad had said he would light the fire. Typically the fire refused to light despite multiple attempts. So the house is bloody freezing, I am always cold anyway as I have shit circulation, and goodness knows when we will get more oil.

I seem to have resorted to comfort eating over the last couple of days, which is making me feel even more shit about myself. I am not eating loads and loads, but I wasn't eating much at all really earlier in the week, and the last couple of days I have eaten more the amount I would usually eat and I feel shit about myself. Everything is wrong. Absolutely everything.

I have to go out yet again tomorrow, which I am dreading. I said months ago that I would go with T and his family to see something on in London. I didn't know when it was on anyway, and had pretty much forgotten about it completely, and then got a text from him a couple of days ago reminding me it was this Sunday, and asking if I wanted to go there for lunch first. Naturally I didn't want to go there for lunch - I hate eating at other people's houses, and I didn't even want to leave the house, but since his mum has bought the tickets there isn't much I can do about that. So I have said I will just go over there for when they are leaving. Dreading having to keep up my happy mask for hours like that. I do not want to go out at all. I feel really stressed by everything at the moment - leaving the house feels like torture. Even getting out of my bed takes far more energy than I have.

The suicidal thoughts are overwhelming. There is lots of planning going on my head that I feel unable to stop, and actually don't want to. This week has just been far, far too difficult, and there is no way I am putting up with another one like it. I have felt completely alone at the time I have most needed support, and every minute of every day has felt like agony. Nobody should have to live feeling like this.

Validation and invalidation

It was so bloody cold today. I woke up and was freezing, even whilst I was still in bed. I put the heating on but I never really warmed up. Then I had to go off to ballet, and I did warm up a little whilst I was dancing, but then I went to a sing through for one of the musicals I have been considering auditioning for, and it was absolutely freezing there - it was barely any warmer than outside, and so I spent the entire 2 and a half hours with icy cold hands, and that was with leaving my coat on! I am in bed now in my pyjamas and bed socks and dressing gown, with a hot water bottle, and underneath a duvet and blanket, but I am still quite cold. I hate having such awful circulation! Tomorrow I don't have to leave the house at all, which is going to be really nice, as it looks like it will be freezing again. I usually see L Tuesday morning, but this week she is doing a home visit in the afternoon, which is good for two reasons - firstly I get to sleep in, and secondly I don't have to go out in the cold and wet!

I am still really shitty, and struggling with everything. My weight has stayed fairly stable over the last few days, after a period of losing. It has gone down slightly, but not much. But I did lose 2lbs between last Monday and this Monday, and another 2 the week before. I have no idea where they went from though, as I don't seem to be any smaller at all. My waist may be slightly smaller, but my hips and thighs are typically not budging. I really need the numbers to start going down again, and I am terrified that I will have gained tomorrow. I ate more today than I wanted to, or feel that I should have. My dinner had about 150kcals more in than I thought it had (as I looked up the figure online a little while ago), and I had some other things I shouldn't have had. The frustrating thing is that dinner was so long ago that I am already feeling hungry - I had to eat sooner after half 4, as I was out from 5 until half 10, whereas I usually eat about 7, and despite normally eating far fewer calories than I had today, I don't usually get hungry again. So I am feeling quite frustrated. I suppose I did dance for an hour, so that will have had to burn some calories, but I am worried it won't be enough. I am going to go and weigh myself in a moment to check my middle of the night weight, so that I am not too horrified when I weigh myself tomorrow, but I am already petrified that it is going to be a number that means I will have gained weight, and I don't know what I will do if it is. Mood wise I am still struggling a lot. I am thinking a lot about suicide, and when I could do it. I think I have it worked out when I could do it. It isn't any time this week, so I suppose I will have to see how things go over the next few days, but I am just finding everything so hard, and I keep thinking that if I don't do it really soon, then it will be January before I could do anything due to my rules on suicide, and the thought of living until January is really, really scary.

I spoke to my friend A via text earlier. She said she is still feeling bad. She saw her social worker earlier, who suggested admission, but she said she would rather stay at home, so she is being seen daily by the crisis team, hospital is remaining an option, and she is seeing her social worker again in a couple of days. I spent some time wondering why the treatment that she, and other people, gets bothers me, and what it is that makes me jealous about it. I know from experience that hospital is crap - that it isn't therapeutic, and isn't a nice environment to be in, and yet I still feel envious that she is always given that as an option. And I think there are two reasons. Firstly, I think it is just about having the chance to have that complete break and not having to be responsible for anything or take care of yourself when you are really struggling. I find it so hard to keep going on my own sometimes when I feel really awful, and even though I know hospital would be shit in many ways, and achieve absolutely nothing in the long term, it would be a break in the short term, and when things are so bad that I can only think in the very short term (and mostly because I don't feel that there will be a long term as the suicidal thoughts get so strong) that seems like a reasonable option. And then I think the other thing is to do with validation. If you are feeling really dreadful, and you are offered more support, in whatever form - whether it be more appointments, or being seen by the crisis team, or hospital - it is validation of how you are feeling. Obviously people can say they know that you are feeling really bad etc, but I actually never feel like that means much when I am at my worst. Although I know rationally that options are very limited, when I am feeling that bad it just feels like if people really believed that I was feeling as desperate and suicidal as I was saying I was, then surely they would try to do something. I suppose it can feel quite invalidating to say that you feel suicidal and are planning to kill yourself and for no further support to be offered, as it then feels like people either don't believe what you are saying, which is why they aren't arranging more support, or that they don't really care whether you kill yourself or not. Whilst logically I am aware that it doesn't necessarily mean that, that is how it feels, and I think that is why I get quite jealous of other people when they are offered a lot of help when they are feeling bad. Whether the help is actually helpful or not is almost irrelevant - I think that just the offer or arrangement of it makes it seem like people have listened to what you have said, taken you seriously, and are giving you support to stay safe. I am not sure if that sounds attention seeking. Maybe it does, but it isn't supposed to. I would never say that I was planning to kill myself or didn't think that I could keep myself safe unless I was genuinely thinking that, and very strongly. I am not referring to the general discussion or mention of suicidal thoughts, as that is often a different matter - I just mean when things really are at rock bottom and I have planned when and how I am going to kill myself, or I am feeling so desperate and unsafe that I might act on impulse. As demonstrated by recent events, I am unlikely to receive much support or validation from my family at these times, which is why I rarely talk about how I am feeling with them, and so I suppose I primarily look to professionals for validation of my feelings, and whilst I do feel like I get that the majority of the time from L, I do find it incredibly difficult when I feel like I am in crisis, and that is why I feel envious of other people getting more help than I do in similar circumstances. I do understand the rationale behind decisions like that (for eg hospital is shit and doesn't actually help at all long, or even medium term) feelings and emotions don't generally follow reason, however much you try to force them to. And I think I needed to work out what it was that caused those feelings of hurt and jealousy when friends receive help, as it tends to make me feel guilty for being jealous when they are obviously having such a difficult time, but I do think it is a combination of just being desperate for a break when things get that bad, and needing to feel validated. And I am not sure what the answer is, or even if there is one, but at least now I think I know where the thoughts stem from.

Very tired

I am absolutely exhausted. I couldn't get to sleep last night - it was even worse than usual for some reason. Then I had to be up at 9 this morning, so I ended up with less than 4 hours sleep. So I am feeling totally zombified and desperate for a nap, but trying to stay awake so that I can sleep tonight. Although I know it won't work - I will be shattered until about 8 o'clock, and then get a burst of energy and not be able to sleep until the middle of the night again, because that is always what happens with me, no matter how long I have been awake, on how little sleep.

I had a rehearsal at 11 this morning. It wasn't for long - it was just to run through my solo for the concert in December. I think it went ok - my voice wasn't overly happy at the beginning because it doesn't like mornings (nor does the rest of me, but my voice has particularly firm views about when it is acceptable to sing and when it isn't, and mornings are a no go!) but it did improve as we went on, and it wasn't horrific. They seemed pleased enough with how it went, which is good, as I am unlikely to get to do it again until the day of the concert, when we have a full run through with the band in the afternoon, before the concert itself in the evening. The only thing I am not happy about is what I am going to be wearing. As it is a concert, I assumed it would be evening dress, but they apparently want people in costumes vaguely appropriate for the song they are singing - not costume, but something they consider suitable. For the vast majority of people I think this will be evening dress, as for songs like Memory and Somewhere and Defying Gravity etc, evening dress is about as appropriate as anything else bar full costume. However, they have decided they don't want me in evening dress. They want me in trousers. Now I hate trousers at any time - I feel like they really accentuate the parts of my body that I hate most - my thighs, followed by my hips, but I am going to hate them even more when everyone else is in pretty dresses. I rarely wear trousers - I will wear them if I am just hanging around in the house, or popping to an appointment, but if I am putting any effort at all into what I look like then I wear a skirt or dress, as I feel very self conscious in trousers. So it is far from ideal that I have to wear trousers for this concert, particularly when virtually everyone else, possibly every single other female, will be in evening dress.

I didn't end up seeing my friend at all after all. She texted me earlier saying that she hadn't been feeling that great all week, and hadn't slept well last night and was feeling more ill today, so she was sorry but she was going to give it a miss. I wasn't too bothered really. I suppose it would have been nice to see her, but I am feeling pretty shit, so it is kind of nice not having to put on a front and pretend everything is fine.

I am still feeling really upset and hurt by what happened yesterday. There has been absolutely no mention of any of it today - my mum is just acting like nothing happened. I've not spoken to my sister, and don't have any desire to. Although I am actually far more hurt by my mum, as I knew my sister didn't like me anyway - that has been evident for many years. I had hoped that my mum would have been more supportive of me.