Things I Wish You Said.

These are things I wish people had said to me when it mattered…. this can be from friends past and present, family, bullies, men, or anyone who ever crossed my path and left a mark in my life. The impact of these few words would be tremendous for someone like me. So it’s sad that I’ve rarely heard such sentiments. The fact these things most often have gone unsaid has broken me. A series of imperfect people in this imperfect world, neglecting to be kind or help at all with a sense of closure, have left open wounds all over my body and soul. I know life doesn’t always allow us closure…. but from guys disappearing from my life, to friends betraying and hurting me with no remorse, to nobody saying I mattered to them, to leaving it too late to say ‘I love you’ and never being able to hear it back, to being ripped away from someone I was attached to in therapy… it’s all too much. All I’ve ever wanted was ONE person to prove that there can be a good ending in life. After too much of it I put my final faith in therapy, thinking they’d help me do this. They did not. It was a missed opportunity. So I struggle on with life, awaiting the next hurt, the next betrayal, the next loss, knowing I will never hear a single one of the things I need to hear in order to heal….


  • I’ll never forget you. I’ll always remember you.
  • Your friendship means / meant a lot to me.
  • I’m glad to have known you.
  • I miss you / I’ll miss you.
  • I’m sorry. What I did was wrong. Please forgive me.
  • I love you.
  • I care about you / worry about you.
  • I value you.
  • You’re special.
  • You’re beautiful.
  • I couldn’t live without you.
  • You’ve give me such lovely memories.
  • I’m flattered you feel that way for me.
  • You deserve better than me.
  • Is there anything you want to say or to ask me?
  • I lied to you. I lied about you. I’m sorry.
  • I was selfish. I’m sorry.
  • I let you down. I’m sorry.
  • You have every right to hate me.
  • I trust you.
  • I admire you.
  • You matter to me.
  • You’re not a burden, and I’ll kick the ass of anyone who makes you think that!
  • Thank you for everything you do and for being you.
  • I believe in you. I have faith in you.
  • I’m proud of you.
  • I have your back.
  • I don’t want to lose you.
  • I’m not going to leave you.
  • Nothing changes how I feel about you.
  • You’re a good person.
  • You mean the world to me.
  • I’m so lucky to have you.
  • I will help you through this. You’ve got me on your side, we’ll do this together.
  • Your feelings matter most to me.
  • I had feelings for you too.
  • I made a mistake.
  • I never wanted to hurt you.
  • Losing you was painful for me.
  • I wish I could undo what I did.
  • You didn’t deserve that.
  • I wish we could have had our chance.
  • I wish I’d met you sooner.
  • You make me happy.
  • I want you to be happy.
  • You deserve to experience love. I hope you’ll find it soon.
  • I understand you.
  • I want to understand you.
  • I want to learn everything about you.
  • Tell me how you’re feeling…
  • It’s okay that you feel that way.
  • You’re not alone.
  • I wish you well.
  • Goodbye.




I find myself in an uncomfortable emotional state. I don’t know why I feel the way I do. And I feel ashamed about feeling the way I do. I feel empty. And as a result of that I’m experiencing urges that make no sense to me.


I feel the urge to hurt myself. I want to self-sabotage and either alienate myself from friends, or to throw myself to the wolves online and let them bully me. I’m contemplating throwing myself at people who are unavailable. I don’t understand why I feel any of these urges. It’s like I want to feel something. I want a reason to self-destruct. I want to harm myself and fall apart entirely. I want a break from existing in this world. It feels wrong to say this, but it’s almost as if I’m feeling the need to cause myself drama, so that I can hurt myself for a legitimate reason…. that feels so wrong, manipulative and attention-seeking. It’s not like me at all. Any drama that’s caused me to harm myself before has always been incidental…. it’s always taken me by surprise. I never set out to cause drama. Just having this urge to do so makes me feel so ashamed.


I feel my existence is pointless at the moment. I’m trying to get along a bit more now. I talk to people more, see people, do my volunteering. I’m enjoying the football, and I’ve taken up knitting. To an outsider I’d seem to be doing better. But honestly, in my heart, I’m not okay.


I’m scared of myself. I feel so detached from the world… still. No matter how many interactions I may have with people, it’s like it’s all happening through layers and layers of bubble wrap. It’s so distant and muffled. And whenever I’m left to my thoughts my heart lurches at the reality of having to continue existing in this world. I don’t want to. No matter how hard I try and how many things are thrown at me as inspiration to live life… I just don’t want to.


This world is different now. So much has changed in two years. Forgetting the fact that two years ago politically things were different, and in that time the most disgusting sides of humanity have been shown, that I don’t feel accepted anymore. My granddad isn’t here anymore.  Two years ago he was. He was here… he was frail. He had his troubles, but he was still here. We’re approaching the time when he went into hospital, and our lives changed forever. Although I’m carrying on with life, as you do, the world feels different now. It’s not just about missing him… it’s the realisation that life has changed. You don’t just lose the person, you lose the reality you knew. You lose who you were. You lose a lot more than your loved one.


I’d been fortunate to be untouched by death until last year. I was able to live in a little bubble where the people I love would live forever. I never imagined my life without them. Life is a darker, more grown up place now. Now I see life differently. I see it as all of us waiting in line to die. It’s just a queue. And I think about the others I have to lose, and what order they’re likely to be in. I think of how little time I might have left with other people. I think about cutting in line… jumping the queue, to save having to go through grief again.


Life isn’t safe anymore. At any moment I could lose someone I love. That never entered my mind before. It  feels like I’m waiting for the next loss. I have nothing to give my life purpose while I wait. So it really is like sitting in a waiting room, waiting to hear who’s next. Before my granddad went I didn’t really appreciate what this kind of loss did to people. Not really. It changes your whole outlook on life. You don’t feel safe anymore.


The thing is I don’t think anyone can help me with it. No amount of talking will change reality. The reality is that he is gone. I can’t talk to him anymore. I can’t see him. I can’t hear him. I can’t hold his hand. I still remember how it felt to hold his hand in hospital, and how he moved my hand to his other hand so that he could move his oxygen mask… even though he was barely conscious. He didn’t want me to feel he was rejecting me. He wanted me to know I could still hold his hand. I can still feel his hand in mine. I can still feel when I stroked his head, eight months later, as I said my last goodbye to him. I can  still hear his voice. I can see his face. I can see him crinkling his nose up with laughter. Everything is so vivid in my mind. I just wish he was here, so I could talk to him… to know he’s okay.


I reached out for psychological help before he died. I wanted it in place to help me when it happened. By the time I saw someone he had been gone for four or five months. I then started my group therapy, breaking down in the first session because of my grief. And then everything went insanely wrong from then on, with the transference and self-harm. What I needed as help to make all this feel better, ended up making me worse. And as hard as they tried to fix it afterwards, I’m sorry to say it’s not at all fixed. Now I’m on my own trying to deal with so much loss and change. So much pain. The deepest depression. And trying to see a reason to live.


But the darkness got into my veins. It’s in my blood now. No matter what happens I can’t see the light. Matt was a ray of light. It always seems darker once a brief glimpse of light is taken away from you. Having seen him recently it’s darkened my world again to know I never will again. Everything feels so desperate and bleak, and as little sense as it makes, I want to run to him. I can’t though.


I just have to hold on to this uncomfortable feeling, and ride it out. I have to surf all these different urges. I have to comfort myself. I have to ‘just hang on’ and hope the feeling passes. I have to put on a front and pretend to be better than I am. I have to be there for other people. I have to ignore the constant paranoia.


I’m sorry, it’s still there, no matter what. What I described as the ‘hijacker’ in me. The bastard who drove me away from all my friends before. He’s still here. I’m trying my best to block him out, but it takes such a lot to ignore him. He keeps telling me to run away from everyone. He tells me I shared too much of my illness with people, showed too many flaws and unattractive / unacceptable behaviours to them, that they’ll never see me the same again… that I scared them all off. And that if they haven’t given up on me, they will. I have to keep fighting the thoughts in my head. I have to sit with the fears that people hate me or don’t care. I have to just sit with them and not act on them, which I’m managing to do a little more now compared to a few weeks ago. But it’s so exhausting and it’s the constant fight in my head that makes me want to give up on life.


People would look at me, hear me and think I’m alright. They can’t see what’s going on inside my head. A lot of the time I try and ignore the fighting in my head. It’s not always possible. It hits me the worst at night. It’s setting in now actually.


I’m really struggling with the monotony of life. It feels like life is about surviving from one day to the next. Wake up, exist, do any duties you have to do including volunteering, go home, sleep, wake up and repeat. Even fun things have become like duties. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy them while I’m participating. But I almost live for the quiet time and solitude. I live for sleep. There can’t be much that’s more depressing than that statement… ‘I live for sleep’. That’s no life. I need the time alone, shut in the dark, hiding away… I couldn’t keep functioning without it. Yet at the same time it allows me to think and go to very dark places.


I don’t know what’s going to get me out of this pit. I don’t even know if it’s a pit I can get out of, or if I’ll get out of it but still have the darkness coursing through my veins. How do you extract darkness from your blood? How do you clear the dark fog from your vision of life? I think I’ll make an appointment tomorrow to see my doctor. It might be time to ask to be referred for more help. As much as I’m scared of changing meds I’d try anything to feel better right now. And I don’t think it’s something I can do on my own anymore. I crossed that point months ago. It’s become so dark that I feel incapable of pulling myself out of this. I need someone to hand me some light, and if it takes pills to start me off with that, then so be it. I know it’ll be another month before I can see my doctor, so better get on and make the appointment. My fear is that I won’t get the support I need… that they’ll turn me down.  I suppose I’ll never know if I don’t ask.


It doesn’t look it from the outside, but I can tell you, from the inside it’s getting to quite a serious point.  I’m starting to feel afraid of my own mind. I just don’t tell anyone as I feel they can’t do anything to help me with it.


I will try to not do the things I said I have urges to do. I’m trying so hard at the moment. I don’t want anyone to think this is easy for me. It’s not. I really want to self-destruct… feels like 85% of me wants to allow myself to be destroyed, either by myself or by others, and 15% is holding me back from that edge. It’s a very strong part of me but very small. At least I have that part still. It’s getting smaller by the day.


There is nothing to look forward to. When I look forward into the future, and even think of things I’ve booked to go and see or whatever, I don’t feel excited. I think ‘Will I make it that far?’… I feel doom. I feel fear. Hopelessness. I see darkness. I feel that I see as much darkness with my eyes open as when I close them right now. I don’t see the difference between being asleep and being awake…. except often life is better in my dreams. Apart from the ones where I’m desperately trying to harm myself and can’t – they’re not good dreams. But at the moment sleep has more to offer me than life does. I don’t remember ever feeling this way before.


I want to go back to a time when my granddad was here, I was innocent, life was safe, I didn’t know Matt existed, and I felt some level of control of my life. Everything is wrong now. I’ve had so much taken from me…. spiritually… caused by physical losses. So many parts of me stolen… broken… I barely resemble who I used to be. There’s a lot of people I wish I never met. Many things I wish I hadn’t done. But what’s done is done. What’s lost is lost, and I have to somehow survive and pick up the pieces. I’m always reminded in my life now, of a quote from Lord of the Rings…..


“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand… there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold.”


This is how I feel often. And I wish I could do what Frodo does next, which is to sail off in a ship, leaving Middle Earth behind… going off to a better place.


I can’t think of anything that hurts more than life.




I feel so overwhelmed with emotions and my mind is dotting all over the place. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m scared. To look at me you’d see nothing.. maybe even someone looking a bit distant / vacant, but there’s a tsunami inside… or a whirlpool / tornado…. I can’t decide the best way to describe it. I’m hoping if I start writing about what I’m experiencing it might calm down or I might make sense of it.


I’m in a ‘never’ state of mind. I’ll never get better. I’ll never get the help and support I need. I’ll never achieve anything in life. I’ll never get over things that have happened. I’ll never get over him. I’ll never be accepted or loved by anyone. I’ll never matter to anyone. I’ll never have a family. I’ll never be happy. I’ll never cope in this world. I’ll never survive.

I’m terrified. I can’t breathe properly and I’m trying not to cry. I want to be protected and comforted but the person my mind goes to when I require this, is someone who cannot do that. I feel exposed. I feel like I’ve been strung up, suspended in mid-air, upside down, naked – blind, deaf, mute. I don’t know which way’s up, where I am, I can feel myself shouting for help but I can’t hear it, and nobody else can hear it. I feel vulnerable. I feel alone. I feel like a fraud.

I need more help. Will I be offered it? What if I’m not? I can’t cope on my own. But does the fact I’m still alive at the moment show people I can cope on my own? That’s messed up if it does. I’ve not sought help yet because it takes too much effort to go and make a doctor’s appointment, only to be told there aren’t any. If I did it tomorrow it would be another month before I see the doctor. If she refers me then that’ll be a wait, and an assessment and what if they say no? What if others get the help I need, but because it’s me I don’t? My illness isn’t always visible to the degree I feel it inside. I’m scared about how drastic it has to get before it becomes visible. I’m scared of my illness. I’m scared of my mind.

I can’t control it. The past, the present, the future – it’s all swirling round… people I can’t forget… my self-harm… the state of the world…. losing loved ones… wanting to just break down and not care anymore… everything is zooming around inside, and it’s not even in any order – like they’re all cars on a road, but they’re not doing laps, or driving in order – they’re driving like they’re at the arc de triomphe… it’s anybody’s guess who’s going where. And then hopping from one to another, back again.

Grief… grief just hit me. Tears for his loss. Missing him. The world being different since he left. Scary. Unknown. Finite. Suicide. And now Matt. Just please leave my heart alone. I can’t take the heaviness of missing you. Want to scream for what I can’t have. I want to rip the fabric of existence with my bare hands. Nothing can take all this pain away. Nothing can help me.

Oh God I miss you Grampa. You’re actually gone. Even if you’re watching me now, you’re not here. I’m living in a world that you don’t live in anymore. I can’t take any more emotions. I have to stop this. Mindfulness. Knitting. Sleep. I’m tired of life.

Haunted Love.

Sod it. I feel like I’m choking on my heart. I have poetry screaming inside me, that I am too scared to put to paper… I’m afraid to open that door and let the words out, because a whole heap of crap will come out with them. I have too much pain and love and grief coursing through my veins right now, that I have to let it out. I have to be the most honest I’ve ever been about something. I have to risk the embarrassment, the shame, being vulnerable, because this is gnawing away at me more each day.

I love you. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks anymore. It means nothing. It’s irrelevant how I feel. I know that. But these are my feelings, and I do myself no favours in denying them. I shut them away for a long time. I stopped talking about you. I never stopped thinking about you. Not for a second. But I pretended it was no longer an issue. I still don’t talk about you, and I won’t. Because the second I do, I’ll be judged. I’ll be told to move on. I’ll be told it’s not real.

If it’s not real, then why the fuck does it hurt so much? I miss you so much. Afterwards, people said it must feel like a break-up (even knowing it was nothing like it!)… they recognised the feelings I was going through…. and I recall saying at the time it’s more than that. It was like you died. Because I knew I would never see you again in my lifetime. I knew your life would go on, so it felt like grieving for someone who was still alive. But in terms of my life, you did die.

Your memory speaks to me in my dreams. Your ghost even appeared to me the other day. And just as painfully that ghost disappeared, and I was reminded of your passing. Your ghost reminded me I haven’t grieved you. But I don’t want to grieve you. I don’t want to accept you’re gone forever. I don’t want life to be this way. I escape into my mind sometimes, where we can be together. And I’d much rather live there. You come to me in dreams, and I never want to wake up from them, yet a part of me forces myself awake, at the pain of realisation it’s only a dream. You’re gone. And I’m in pain because of it. What’s so wrong in admitting this? Why do I have to pretend it’s ‘not real’ in order to escape the embarrassment of actually experiencing such feelings? I was attracted to you in every single way possible. The first therapist to talk to me about it asked if I ‘fancied’ you. And whilst yes, I very much was attracted to you in that way, it was unbelievably so much more, and she cheapened it. From then on I felt stupid for how I felt about you. She compounded the problem.

I just got upset a moment ago, thinking about the way everything went…. wondering how different my life would be now if I had just kept it all to myself, pretending I felt nothing. What if I’d just dropped out of the group instead? My life hurtled out of control because of a stupid choice I made, and I couldn’t put the toothpaste back in the tube after that…. I had to just go with it. But it’s left me with such immense regret for my decisions. Opening up about all of this has been one of the hardest, shameful experiences of my life. I’ve felt pathetic. I’ve felt not ‘good enough’ to feel this way for you. I’ve felt hideous. Deluded. Ashamed. I feel embarrassed to talk about my feelings for you. My personal life is personal, and I’ve had to be very open about my lack of experience with such things. I don’t want people knowing the ways in which I think of you. I don’t want them pitying me. I don’t want them thinking I’m just fantasising or that I’m immature in my approach to feelings, and in my views of ‘love’.

Who is to say what ‘love’ really is.. what it means? Love is what you make of it at the time. Love is love. Sure I might meet somebody and fall in love with them, and realise that whenever I thought I was in love before, I was wrong… that this is real love. But something even stronger could come along after that….. it doesn’t mean I didn’t love before. Love changes. There isn’t one mould for love…. love isn’t something you achieve – it’s not something where you go ‘Aha! This is what love feels like! This is love, and anything before this was not love’. I used to believe that, but after meeting you I see love in a different way. There are also different kinds of love. Obviously this is unrequited love. This is ‘I love you even though I’m nothing to you’. Of course if I meet someone one day who loves me like I love them, that is what I will call real love.  But it’s a different love. It doesn’t mean the love I feel today didn’t exist. Love is an emotion. That is why I have to accept that I feel it towards you, because you can’t help how you feel. Obviously I’m not daft – the love I feel for you is different to the love your wife feels for you. I’m not totally insane, saying that ‘I love you more than anyone else ever could!’ – I have more sense than that. I try not to be too logical about how I’m feeling…. that would indicate that I think I stood a chance. I’m a dreamer – but I am a realist. I know the reality. I don’t need to get into the complexities of reality. But with the knowledge that my feelings of love are miniscule in the great scheme of things, I have to be true to how I personally feel, and accept that this is how I feel… as embarrassing as it may be. I’m working on it. I know I have to let go. I have to move on. But even though this was not any form of ‘relationship’ in the slightest, I have to allow myself to heal as though it was something. It takes me quite a time to recover from my feelings for men – I have such feelings so rarely – I become quite devoted in my affections and desires. I have to treat myself with the care I would in trying to overcome a break-up.

In some ways this is worse than a break-up, because a break-up would indicate you were together in the first place. You had your time. You had memories together. You had your shot, and in theory you could have that conversation to get some sort of closure. But with you and me, there was no ‘you and me’. There was no relationship. There was no time together, no memories. We didn’t ‘have our shot’. We didn’t have a conversation and closure, because the situation did not call for it, being a purely professional one.

This was nothing. I know that. I was reminded of that… that there’s no need for closure as nothing existed. I’m not stupid. I know I don’t deserve closure. I’ve had bad experiences in my past where I wasn’t given closure, and although this wasn’t a situation that warranted ‘closure’, it just would have been nice to be given a chance to heal those wounds from the past. To actually feel like things can be different, people can be wished well and given a chance to heal…. rather than everything always being left unfinished – wounds gaping open, and the world hurting.

I just feel so upset right now at the way things were handled. The scars I’m left with because of this, both physical and mental. And I feel doomed to experience the same pains over and over in my life, because not even fucking therapists want to help give me hope. Not even fucking therapists could see an opportunity to fix the broken bits of me… the bits that believe I’m not worth a conversation…. that people come and they just leave – leave my heart gashed open…. that I’m a burden. I feel so upset right now. I can’t stop crying, and all I want is for you to hold me and make it go away. But that never was, never will be, and I feel sick with myself for even wanting that. I feel like a bad person. But I just want you here.


I wish I’d never met you. Because living without you, having discovered you exist, it’s too much. If I close my eyes in the daytime, if I don’t think of you, all I see is destruction. It’s like everything else has died. Everything is dead. The only time I see light, is when I think of you. But that doesn’t last long… it turns to tears when I realise it’s all make-believe. Even you are dead in this world I’m living in, in reality.


I often try to think how to describe the pain I feel about all this…. it’s not easy. It’s like a pent-up scream…. like roaring in pain and sadness, but on the inside. If you externalised it, it would be just that – a noise. A very loud noise. But because it cannot be released vocally it sends painful waves throughout my body – you know that pulling in your chest when you hear something that breaks your heart? It’s like that, but through my whole body. It’s a heaviness. A depression. It travels straight to my eyes – sometimes I can cry, sometimes all I can do is stare blankly at the floor, feeling like I’ll explode from the grief. There is anger there, and I want to punch walls because of it. But it’s a lesser emotion. Sadness, grief, despair, hopelessness, heartache…. these are my emotions. And I’m not so good at coping with those emotions. They’re less reactive emotions, and more ruminative. I find it harder to pull myself out of these emotions… they paralyse me. It sometimes feels like someone is reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart and won’t let go – it feels like my heart stops beating, like it’s giving up… and I can’t breathe. I don’t even want to anymore. It’s in those moments I think ‘How am I ever going to carry on living with this pain, and you gone forever?’ That grasping of my heart, the despair of loss… it’s enough to make me not want to live anymore. In those moments I just want the world to end. If I can’t know you, and I can’t forget you, I can’t exist with the memory of you. It’s too much. It’s just too much.


Expectations, BPD & The Hijacker.



Do I expect too much? Am I too demanding? It’s a serious question. Everywhere I turn I’m met with people saying not to expect too much from others… that they all have their own lives and issues to contend with…. and that people aren’t always going to react how I want them to. Does this mean I should stop asking them to? Do I need to stop reaching out for help? Do I need to stop expecting people to care?


Because if the answer is yes, then that is asking me to return to ‘doormat’ status. It’s telling me that I’m unimportant. If you’re telling me that other people don’t expect care and concern from others, then I don’t believe you. Or perhaps they don’t expect it…. but they get it nonetheless.


Whenever I hear these sentiments I end up feeling like I’m ‘attention-seeking’ or that they think I am. And one of the things I hate about that is that even if I was after ‘attention’ does that mean I don’t deserve it? People seem to have this aversion to what they deem to be ‘attention-seeking’. They think those asking for attention (i.e. care) should be punished by denying them what they need. They should be taught not to ask for attention, or to ask for it in a more ‘acceptable’ way. Please tell me what the right way to say ‘I need help’ is…..? How do ‘normal’ people get the support and care they need, that I’m clearly not doing right? I want to know. Because others seem to get support and care, yet I’ve lived my life almost having to beg for it at times – my worst times. And still my pleas are ignored.


At which point people would say that people have their own lives and concerns – as though I’m thick, self-centred or totally unaware of other people. I’m not being self-centred by asking for help, and if you think I am then off you trot, as you are detrimental to my mental health. You have no clue how many times I DON’T reach out for help. How much I tolerate on my own. So when I reach the point where I verbalise things on Twitter or Facebook, that’s after I’ve exhausted all other possibilities. Sure I write my feelings out on my blog, but I don’t expect everyone to read it and to react. That’s not what it’s for. Of course if it will help them understand my state of mind, then great. But it’s an outlet. When I am honest on social media that I’m struggling, it’s saying I need help. I’m sorry if I do that too often. I’ll try not to do it at all.


But I see other people reaching out for support, and being granted that support wholeheartedly … yet when I need support it’s given either reluctantly or with the caveat that I shouldn’t expect too much from others, or I can’t always have what I want. What is that about? Do people think I’m thick? Clearly they do. I’ll tell you – my ‘expectations’ of others, comes from what I witness. I’m not thinking I deserve special treatment..… I’m thinking I deserve the same treatment that they give to others!! Is it because I’ve been too open and honest about BPD? Do people think they ‘know me’ now because of that? Do they think it makes me an attention-seeker who should be ignored? Do they think it makes me ‘manipulative’? Does it make them see me differently? Or perhaps it’s just a continuation of my lot in life….. I’m always below everyone else.


All throughout my adult life in particular I’ve been littered with comments that made me feel as though I’m too demanding. Generally speaking though I’m pretty laid-back. I’m less demanding than a lot of women out there. However, when I’m in a dark place, I’m upset or someone hurts me, I am a little more what you like to call ‘demanding’. I expect more. I expect more effort.


The point is that whenever I’ve had to practically BEG for this ‘attention’ – love, care, respect etc., I’m not actually asking for miracles. I’m not asking for the world. I’m asking for the basic respect, love and care that every human being needs, and seems to get. What is it about me that makes people think I don’t deserve what everyone else gets? It makes me feel like less of a person. It feeds the part of me that just feels like a nuisance to others, who should do them all a favour and die. I’m tired of fighting to be acknowledged. I’m sick of battling to matter, to anyone. I’m fed up with having to ask for what I need, when it’s given willingly to other people. It gives me this feeling of ‘I’m terribly sorry to bother you with my crippling pain and sadness, but could you just give me one little sign that I matter to you please? I know that’s asking too much, to take time out of your day to say “I hope you’re okay”…. I won’t bother you again for another six months after that…. thanks for taking the time out of your life to acknowledge I exist. You’re the best’. That’s how it feels being me. It’s like that thing of ‘Children should be seen and not heard’…. except that I should be neither seen nor heard.


Most of the time I just stay out of everyone’s way. I let them have it their way. I let them forget I exist. I bottle my feelings up and cope with them on my own, in my own way. But every now and then I start to resent that I’m made to live this way. I start to get annoyed that they’re happier when I don’t exist. I get pissed off that they make me feel so worthless for asking for help… and it explodes in a blog, or in a tweet, a post, whatever….. I then get kicked down for speaking out about my resentment. I get reminded I’m asking too much of people. And the cycle continues… I go back into hiding… don’t bother people. Don’t reach out for help….. give the people what they want….. ‘Oh, it’s getting too much for me again…. why is nobody even concerned if I live or die?’ BOOM. And shot down again.


The last time this happened I said to myself that from now on I will say what I want, and to hell with what anyone thinks of it. But I don’t really work like that. So I’m going to go back into my shell, and try not to explode again. I just have to learn that I’m irrelevant. I’m unimportant. I’m nothing. And anytime my ‘ego’ tries to speak up for itself and tell me that actually I DO matter, and it’s wrong of people to make me feel like I don’t, I need to put it in its place. I have to keep reminding myself I’m only here to be used and abused. I’m here to be taken for granted and taken advantage of. I’m here for no other reason than to wait to not be here anymore. I’m even breaking the rules by writing this blog. It’s ‘attention-seeking’. So please show me no attention for it. I don’t deserve it.


I just feel sad, as life has changed so much. Ever since my granddad passed away, and I had the issues at therapy, I’ve gone downhill. I’ve never been this unwell. I don’t know how to pull myself out of it. I know I have to do it alone. I remember a time I had depression and had to pull myself out of it. I know how it works with depression. But I’ve never truly experienced the full force of BPD symptoms like this. And people are less understanding and forgiving of such symptoms. They understand depression. They don’t understand the behaviours caused by BPD. They think I’m choosing them. They think I’m being a bitch. They don’t understand the raging fire inside… the battleground…. the carnage I see when I close my eyes. They don’t understand how sick of the rollercoaster I am.  How sick I am of feeling ‘okay’ more or less, to then being paranoid, thinking everyone hates me, I can’t trust anyone, I have no friends… within days – hours even. And how long it takes to recover each time my mind takes me to that place. I’m sick of it meaning I need people to make more effort to prove I’m not as worthless as I’m led to believe. Because that makes me ‘too demanding’, which reminds me of how utterly worthless I am. And I then hate myself for daring to think I matter at all. I seriously hate myself.


I am so sick of splitting on friends, that I purposefully distance myself from them, because they don’t deserve that. It’s better I’m lonely than splitting on them every other week. It’s not something I choose to do. But I can choose to isolate myself, to spare them my ‘mood swings’. It’s better that I AM alone, than to tell them I FEEL alone, even with their presence.


It's like I've been hijacked by some bastard intent on killing me... but ruining my life first. And I'm trapped with him, because as much as I'd love to just take a pill, close my eyes a



I can’t help how I feel. It’s part of the illness I’m struggling with at the moment. I wish people would understand that. It’s a terrifying place to be. I don’t feel in control of my own mind anymore. Sometimes I even lose control of my body during my ‘episodes’. It’s like I’ve been hijacked by some bastard intent on killing me… but ruining my life first. And I’m trapped with him, because as much as I’d love to just take a pill, close my eyes and leave this world and all this torture, I can’t. That bastard shares a space with my conscience, and the two don’t get along very well. Every time he tells me to end it, my conscience fights back… but eventually everyone gets worn down. Its resolve won’t be infinite. I feel as though that hijacking bastard is going to win. He’s already taken over so much of me. He’s driven me down a path I can’t return from on my own.


Months ago I witnessed it happening. In those days I was making videos and blogs asking for help, it was because he had taken the wheel, taken me hostage and was driving me away from my friends. I needed them to get my SOS and pull him out of the driver’s seat. I knew he’d lead me somewhere bad. And he did. My SOS back then was ignored. Now, months later, I’m out of the vehicle – he’s still with me, with a gun to my head, but I’m at a crossroads, assessing which way I could run to get away from him. It’s a barren desert… nothing in any direction. I’m lost. I’ve nowhere safe to hide. I don’t know how to get back to where I was when that bastard got hold of me…. which direction do I go in? And there’s nobody in sight who can show me the way…  we drove away from them three months ago… we’re miles away now. I feel stranded and isolated. And I’m trapped with this madman as my only company. So even when people talk to me now, it feels as though it’s a distant whisper, or a phone call. So when anyone tries to help me, they’re speaking into the phone trying to direct me by saying ‘Come this way!’ … it means nothing when you can’t even see where they are. I need someone to drive and find me, take my hand and lead me back home. But if they didn’t care enough to stop the hijacker in the first place, they’re hardly going to go to that amount of effort to find me and bring me back.


I don’t feel like the same person anymore. It’s a terrifying, desperate, lonely place to be. To feel so utterly detached from everything… everyone. To see no light. To feel like you’re suspended in darkness. To not know who you are anymore. To not like who you are anymore. But to feel out of control. Powerless. I feel as though I’ve lost everything. I feel as though nobody likes me anymore. I feel closed off. I don’t know how to be me anymore… not with these people. When I close my eyes I see a world flattened, burning, bloodied bodies, a lonely rowing boat – as though I finally drifted back to the shore and everything’s changed… destroyed. This is how I see the world now. And the safe haven I wish I could run to, I can’t. It’s not mine to run to. I just have to stand alone in this empty, broken world, grieving for all that’s been lost.


I feel detached from kind sentiments. People can say lovely things to me, and they can’t be about me. It doesn’t match with who I’ve become. It’s like they’re paying tribute to some deceased woman they used to know. I’m not her anymore. I don’t know how to relate to people anymore. I’ve been lacking proper human connection for a long time. And there’s a lot of water under the bridge now. Even when I’m in touch with people, things can plod along for a short time, but when I’m left alone things change…. because I’m never really alone now. That damn hijacker’s there beside me feeding me doubts, paranoia, misery and trying to drive me further away. This is BPD to me. A hijacker. I’ve never thought of it as a separate entity, I’ve always just seen it as a part of me. I still think of it as me – I don’t see a person. I don’t hear a person. It’s something that resides in me. But I thought it might help explain it to others, if I described it as another being that’s taken me prisoner…..because that’s what it FEELS like to me. I’m a hostage to this part of me. Would anyone ever pay the ransom to get me back…?


I ask for too much from people by asking that they care… that they talk to me…. that they acknowledge my existence or my pain… that they respect me… that they speak up in order to save my life. I’m sorry. You try living with a hijacker in your mind day in day out. You’d call out for help too. My calls fell on deaf ears for such a long time. I’ve come so far and feel so lost that there’s no point in calling for help anymore. Nobody can save me now. I will burn and decay out in this desert, and one day when they find my bones they will ask, ‘Why didn’t she ask for help?’ as they all do when it’s too late. They miss the signs. They say the wrong things. They tell me to expect nothing, as if my life is dispensable. Only when I’m gone will they change and say I deserved more. Life’s funny like that… or rather death is…. it gives you a new perspective. I learned that recently.


It’s just me and the hijacker and our journey to God knows where now. I feel very guilty and sorry to those who try to help. To those who care. To those who are now trying. I don’t know if I can be saved… not with this bastard’s gun to my head. He doesn’t want me to go back. And I’ve been his prisoner for so long, that I don’t feel safe going it alone, without him. I’d rather his company than total isolation. We’ll travel through this desert together. Everything’s flat here…. it goes on for miles and miles…. of nothingness….. we journey on, with me just waiting for it to end. This is no life. Who could even ‘exist’ with this? It’s purgatory.


When I close my eyes I see a world flattened, burning, bloodied bodies, a lonely rowing boat - as though I finally drifted back to the shore and everything's changed... destroyed. This i

Free Mental Illness For Everyone!

Free Mental Illness


There is something I find frustrating regarding mental illness, which some would find controversial…. People who say ‘we all have mental health’… and imply that depression and anxiety are something we all experience. Someone saying we all have nerves – yes, but not everyone has anxiety – a medical condition. Just like we all feel down sometimes…. but not everyone has chronic depression and wants to end their life.

There seems to be this movement to ‘normalise’ mental illness, and do away with diagnosis. And whilst I applaud people for trying to make those with mental illness feel they are normal, and make them feel less isolated, they’re actually doing more harm than good. What’s happening is it’s making people feel misunderstood and like the intensity of their suffering is being dismissed. It’s saying ‘We all feel like that – it’s normal. It’s human’… but I highly doubt that every person on this planet hates themselves that much, that they cut into their own skin. I doubt they see everything as a means to hurt themselves or end their lives. I doubt they stay up at night, worrying and ruminating on the past, waking up in the morning, seeing no reason to get up. I doubt they starve themselves or make themselves sick. I doubt they have panic attacks. I doubt they pick at their own skin, or pull their own hair out. I doubt they take anti-depressants or anti-psychotic medications, or mood stabilisers. I doubt they struggle with their emotions as much as someone with BPD. I doubt they’re obsessed about germs or doing things in numbers. I doubt they all have hallucinations, delusions and paranoia.

Mental illness is not ‘normal’. It’s not something we all have. To make a statement that we all feel the same, minimises what people actually experience. I had it said to me the other week that we all have nerves…. they don’t even know a thing about my mental health. To say that they know how I feel is ridiculous. I have chronic depression. I have anxiety, and trichotillomania. I self-harm. I have BPD. Can you say the same? At which point I’ve noticed some people turn on their inner arsehole and say ‘It’s not a competition’. No, it’s not a competition… exactly. We don’t all have to have it. But to get anxious about something, or be down in the dumps for a few days because of something, and saying that’s on a level with people with diagnosed mental health conditions, is condescending and trivialises our experiences.

Nobody knows what it’s like to have BPD… except for those who have it. For people to say that ‘being borderline’ is somehow normal is actually quite upsetting. I understand people are trying to break stigma by claiming we are just experiencing being human, but I don’t personally believe that. If having BPD is just being human then surely we’d all have the symptoms. I believe those with BPD ARE different. If you’re telling me this is just what life is like, and there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with me, then that definitely makes me not want to live life! Believing there’s something wrong with me gives me the hope I can get better, and life will be better. If I have to accept this as ‘normal’ then I might as well give up now, as it’s too painful to live with.


The stigma of BPD doesn't come from the name... it comes from what people are told about 'people like us'. I admit 'personality disorder' is not the most helpful of terms, as it implies


Some people don’t want the concept of diagnosis. They don’t want labels. But I actually find it helpful. It’s nice to be able to put a name to what you’re experiencing. It’s just a name to cover a set of symptoms. It should help to form the right treatment path. The stigma of BPD doesn’t come from the name… it comes from what people are told about ‘people like us’. I admit ‘personality disorder’ is not the most helpful of terms, as it implies something is wrong with our personalities. But even if the name changed we’d still be ‘those difficult ones’. This is because of a culture where these opinions are rife. We’re the ‘arm-cutters’, the ‘attention-seekers / manipulators’, the ‘lost causes’. Regardless of the name, people will continue to think these things about us. I don’t care about the name BPD. It doesn’t bother me. It’s the opinions underneath it that bother me. They are what need to be challenged.

I don’t have the official diagnosis of BPD, but I was told it was what I was treated for, and it explains so much of my life. Some would choose not to have a diagnosis – like I did several years ago… I didn’t want the stigma I was told about. But for some it’s a moment where everything clicks and makes sense. Having something to treat can give people more hope. Opinions will vary on this and that’s fine. But to try and do away with diagnosis is dangerous for those who need to feel they can recover.

To imply that it’s simply ‘the human condition’ rather than mental illness, is unhelpful. Yes, the emotions I struggle with because of BPD are human emotions, that we all feel. But if you don’t have BPD then you don’t experience those emotions to the same degree as someone with BPD. You don’t feel emotional pain at the same intensity… if you did you’d also be cutting your skin open. You may say you feel lonely or isolated – I don’t doubt that for a minute…. but you don’t feel it on the same level as someone with BPD. This isn’t a competition… this isn’t making it sound like we’re superior in the knowledge of pain and emotions… it’s a reality, that unless you have BPD you can’t imagine the intensity and the suffering. You can try, but you’ll never picture it. And anyone who says they know how I feel, just piss me off, because they don’t. Whenever I hear this it makes me feel MORE isolated, because they’re claiming to understand a level of emotional pain and loneliness, that they’re not capable of understanding. So in my head I think they’re lying. They’re pretending to understand. Or they honestly think they know how I feel. And it’s so frustrating… because they never will truly comprehend the turmoil inside my mind.


normal (1)


It’s difficult, because we want to be accepted. We want to fit in. We want to be validated. I want all these things… but I don’t want my feelings, thoughts and behaviours passed off as ‘normal’. If I was just a human being with human emotions and no mental illness, I wouldn’t be on a cocktail of medications, and I wouldn’t need therapy. I wouldn’t sometimes end up at the hospital. Splitting on everyone isn’t ‘normal’… if it was then nobody would speak to anyone for long periods of time. Pre-occupation with suicide isn’t ‘normal’ – it’s not a human instinct to kill yourself… the human instinct is survival. Depression so bad you don’t take care of yourself or get out of bed… or anxiety so bad you can’t go out the front door… it’s not ‘normal’. If it was normal then nobody would leave the house, go to work… we’d all sit at home in our pyjamas, with scruffy hair, dirty teeth, starved or dehydrated, watching daytime TV or staring into thin air.

Mental illness isn’t ‘normal’. This does not make us abnormal. It doesn’t meant we shouldn’t be included and accepted as normal human beings. Mental illness isn’t normal, but the people who experience it are normal people. We just have something to contend with, that other normal people don’t have to face in life. Yes we may all experience a bout of mental illness at some point in our lives. But to compare the emotions of anxiety and depression, with the mental illnesses of anxiety and depression, in order to ‘normalise’ mental health issues, only alienates us further. It has the opposite effect to what is intended.

If we trust you enough to open up about our mental health, what we need is validation. We need to have our suffering recognised, without a rendition of ‘Me too!’… ‘We all feel that way sometimes’… ‘I know someone who has that’. We are not all the same. We don’t all have mental illness – if we did then it wouldn’t be called an ‘illness’! We all have emotions, but we don’t all have a diagnosed / diagnosable mental illness. And even those who have a diagnosis are not all the same. Just because you know someone who has BPD it doesn’t mean you understand my BPD. Recognise my suffering if I choose to share it with you. See me as an individual. See me as a normal human being with a mental illness. Don’t see me as the same as you, and don’t see me as my mental illness. Validate my feelings and my experience, without competing. Yes we all have times we struggle. Yes we may both know about an aspect of mental health, but in those moments I choose to open up to you about how I’m feeling, I’m not looking to be comforted that ‘we all feel that way sometimes’ – it brings me no comfort… I’m looking for validation. I’m looking for sympathy / empathy / understanding about my situation…. not yours. I will be writing a post purely about validation soon, for those who don’t know what it is or how to give it.

I do admire those who want to improve life for those with mental illness. I know people sometimes think they’re doing the best by others, but if you stopped and listened to those with these illnesses, or rather listened to the other opinion, you’d see that attempts to identify with our suffering, often alienates us further, invalidates our suffering and robs us of hope that things can get better.

I do appreciate that if you’ve not had a full-blown mental illness it can be hard to know what to say. So these sentiments of ‘We all feel that way sometimes’, ‘I feel like that too’, and ‘It’s just part of life’ come out of your mouth before you stop and think. And actually, fair enough, some people will be comforted by such platitudes – this is just my take on it. But I know I’m not the only one to feel this way – far from it.

If everyone suddenly decided they have the same problems as me, because it’s not ‘mental illness’, it’s ‘the human condition’, therefore we all have mental health problems, then services would be flooded by people with the slightest bout of anxiety or feeling blue. The purpose of mental health services would lose all meaning, and those who are severely affected by mental illness and in desperate need of support won’t get the help they need, as the services are taken up by those with more easily managed issues. It’s hard enough to get much-needed support. You either get help from IAPT for mild to moderate anxiety and depression, or you have to be so severe that CMHT will see you. If you’re somewhere in between you’re screwed… lost in the system. And unfortunately people in this category when left to their own devices will tend to stray further towards the extreme, rather than recover by themselves. Mental health services are stretched as it is. To imply that we’re all the same, will make some people think they need therapy for just experiencing a human emotion of anxiety, rather than for the chronic illness of anxiety.




It also says that we’re all ‘normal’ therefore people don’t require therapy or treatment, because it’s just part of being human. I remember a time when I was mentally ill and mental health services were there to support you. It was their job to assist you in getting better. Nowadays it seems that their ‘job’ is simply to give you a toolbox to help yourself. A few sessions just to tell you what you need to do, and then it’s up to you whether you sink or swim. I understand this is because of increased pressure on services. They can’t give you the time and support you need. They’re doing their best. But in the meantime people who need more persistent care and support are being let down. We’re being left to fend for ourselves. As much as it might frustrate professionals that they can’t do more, and that people like me won’t do more to help ourselves, what they have to realise is if I could, I would. Unfortunately my mental health has deteriorated past the point where I can do this on my own. They also have to realise that as much as they’re frustrated with the state of mental health services, they’re not the ones suffering for it. We are the casualties. It’s much worse for patients who are left feeling like a lost cause after four CBT sessions, for example. It shouldn’t be this way. It never used to be this way. You used to get the help you needed for your illness. Now they tell you we all feel that way, and these are the tools to use to cope with it like everyone else. For some people it will work. For others, not so much. Just like some people will like seeing their illness as a part of being human, nothing more. But others prefer to see it as an illness that can be treated.

My view is that if you yourself do not know the complexities of actual mental illness, then please try not to identify with our struggles on a basic human level. Don’t try to make us all equal when we know full well that we operate differently to you! It will make us feel like we’re failing in life, if you can cope with the ‘exact same feelings’ as us, and not feel the need to cut yourself, hide in your bed, or starve yourself. Those who have / have had mental illness can choose to feel how they like about this, but if you don’t know first-hand the feelings and thoughts a mentally ill person experiences, then treat them as normal people, with respect, dignity, kindness, caring and concern. But do not try to make them feel what they are experiencing is ‘normal’. It’s not and whether you mean it or not, there can be catastrophic consequences of diminishing our pain.

The times I’ve felt most alone were times where people told me they understand, when I know full well they haven’t a clue what I’m feeling. In the end it makes me shut down and not bother telling people I’m struggling, as I know it will become a competition, or they’ll give me advice that works for milder mental illness, but not for something such as BPD. I would take a guess that a fair few lives have been lost because people claimed to understand the suffering of others, as they feel that way too…. they didn’t validate the feelings of the person in front of them… they threw in ideas like ‘It’s part and parcel of life unfortunately’, and carried on with life – only to be shocked when the person ended their life, feeling isolated and misunderstood. Hopeless. They’d claim they never saw it coming. But the signs were there. They tried reaching out for help, but nobody would listen.

What it boils down to is the need for us to be heard. To not be given advice unless we ask for it. To have someone sit and actually listen to how hard life is for us and why. Listening – it’s the one thing so desperately needed in life… the one thing that gets forgotten. We often say to people to speak out if they’re struggling – tell someone… reach out….. but if there’s nobody there prepared to truly listen it only compounds the problem and will drive it underground until it’s too late. 

These are just some of my thoughts, I appreciate people will have their own views on all this. That’s one of the good things about life – variety. Thanks for reading.



A Hard Day.

Today has been a tough day. I’ve just been to the garden of remembrance with family to leave some flowers for my granddad. Today would’ve been my grandparents’ 69th wedding anniversary… they reached just shy of 68 years of marriage before he passed away – something I could never achieve…. unless I live to be 100 years old… and that would mean meeting and marrying the guy like right now!!

It was okay. I didn’t get upset like I often do when I go there. I’d already had a bit of a day, and didn’t want to get too emotionally involved in it all. I was just there to comfort my nan. It was a nice sunny afternoon, and the bushes and trees are green now, which they weren’t the last time I went. The birds were singing, and as we left the place where we left the flowers, we heard a seagull flying overhead. My granddad loved the sea, so we took it as a sign that he was with us. It was a lovely moment.

Earlier in the day I had bumped into the therapist I had transference issues with several months ago. He didn’t appear to notice me. I don’t know if that was deliberate. But it stirred many conflicting emotions up. I had never forgotten him. In fact only this morning I’d realised it’s six months ago today since I last saw him, thinking I’d never see him again. I probably never will again, but it was nice to know he still exists. I wish I could have said hello.

I had just had my therapy session, which is what I want to write about here at the moment. I need to get it out and clear my mind. I wasn’t happy about the session. I spent a lot of it just wanting to get out of the room. I didn’t want to be there. I felt it was a waste of everyone’s time. I’d made no progress, and the therapist didn’t seem to really understand the difficulties I have.

Many years ago when I was mentally unwell I was under CMHT, and although they’d occasionally make me feel like a burden, generally they were there to help me. Nowadays the services that exist seem to be a factory. They want to get people in and out as quickly as possible. They say they provide a toolbox, but otherwise it’s up to you to help yourself. That’s fine, if you’re in a place where you are capable of helping yourself. Unfortunately I am not. And this is something I can’t seem to get through to anyone. I might not be quite as erratic as I was when I was younger… but I promise you I am the worst I can ever remember being. I may not look it, but it’s the reality.

I wish I could help myself – I feel like such a disappointment to these services when I have to tell them why I feel physically unable to do anything about my life! I feel like I’m wasting their time, and they see me as a lost cause. I’m not being lazy. I’m not being stubborn. But if you heard the ‘motivation’ they try to give me, you’d be forgiven for thinking they believe that! I’m constantly told I can’t wait until I feel a certain way to take action… I have to do things even when I don’t want to…. do you want to step into my body for a minute and experience everything I’m feeling and all I’ve been through and then try and achieve these goals you set me, on a bad day? I’m sorry I’m a failure. I’m sorry I’m useless. I’m sorry I can’t click my fingers and magically recover. I’m sorry I’m not perfect. I’m sorry that I’m busy trying to stay alive, and that I have very little left over after that to put to good use.

I didn’t even admit to everything that’s been going on for me, as the conversation got swept elsewhere before I could finish sentences. I didn’t admit to the punching issues. I didn’t admit to the hair-pulling.

I tried to explain the rage, but I really don’t think it got through. I was told to use my anger positively and ‘let go of the negative stuff’…. that’s fine with rising anger. But I’m talking about full-on BPD ‘flick of a switch’, ‘seeing red’ RAGE. It comes from nowhere, and there’s no way I can use that anger positively. I can’t direct it into getting a job, or joining a club, or fighting for a cause. In those moments I am not in control of my body. In those moments the only thing I feel is the need to punch the living daylights of everything, particularly myself. Or I self-harm in other ways. They say ‘use mindfulness’ – but bollocks to that! ‘Mindfulness’ when you’ve been triggered and the rage is suddenly happening, will do bugger all. Once you’re triggered, and you react, there’s no space for mindfulness. There’s not even the awareness that it’s something that could be used. It is as they say – seeing red. Everything else vanishes, and very often the only way to bring it down and make it manageable, despite what therapists say, is to punch…. that brings me back into my body and more under control. I know they can’t understand this, and that’s the biggest problem I have with these people, is they really don’t seem to understand the challenges of BPD. I feel very misunderstood by them.

They also make things sound so simple. Like, ‘get out and make new friends’….. yeah… do you even know me? I have severe trust issues because of friends I’ve had. I hate myself so much that I don’t believe anyone new will like me – I even doubt the ones who do know me like me!

She talks about the fact that online connections aren’t real, and I need to have real friends in real life – again, this shows how little she understands. I had to explain that when you feel isolated from your friends and CAN’T have real life friends, then it’s better than nothing. It’s better to feel connected online than to be completely disconnected from civilisation.

When I talked about the fact I sing while I play the guitar, my therapist asked if I could go to an open mic night! I said no. I do not have that sort of confidence. I already said I’m not good at singing / playing. She said if I have musical friends I could get them involved….. I had already said my friendships are limited right now.

When I said about wanting to do office work but not wanting to have to use a phone, the typical therapist answer came – that I should challenge my fears… that  I don’t want it to be a life-long thing. Why not? What is this CBT obsession of having to face every fear, and to not avoid?? Sometimes it pays to avoid! I had to explain to my therapist that doing a job where I answer the phone, and the idea of an open mic night, are throwing me in at the deep end!

The trouble is if I had a therapist for more than four sessions, they would get to know me, and would know the things that are ridiculous to suggest to me. Where it’s part of this factory procedure there’s no time to really get to know me, and to understand me. It’s not helpful to someone like me at all. I need more consistent and long-term support. Anything else is damaging or a waste. I hate to sound ungrateful… I just don’t think their methods work for someone like me.

I wanted to get out of there so much. I feel relieved I’m done with the service now. I feel reluctant to seek help anywhere else now though, as I feel they’re all going to be the same. They’re going to give me the same crappy solutions, and if I don’t or can’t do them, they’ll wash their hands of me. I feel I’ll be wasting everyone’s time.

I can’t help that I feel as bad as I do right now. Believe me, I wish my life was better. Nobody knows how dire it is in my mind at the moment. Nobody knows the carnage I see when I close my eyes… the tatters of my life. Nobody hears the cracking of my heart. Nobody hears the deafening scream in my chest. Nobody feels the force preparing to erupt in me, or the other force pushing me down… paralysing me. Nobody knows. More than anything right now, I want someone to give me their time…. listen to my depressing feelings, validate them…. show compassion and empathy…. tell me they hear me and how sorry they are that my life is so shit, and that they can understand why I feel so broken and just done with life. I don’t want advice right now. I don’t want solutions until I truly feel someone gets my reality. I want to be understood. Until I feel understood, no amount of suggestions will help… they will all be met with a feeling that nobody gets how hard this is for me.

Today was exhausting, upsetting and I’m glad it’s finished with. The rest of the week is busy, but at least I get to sleep soon. A short respite from reality and emotions. I almost live for sleep at the moment. Goodnight everyone.