Poem: Deluge.




And just like that, the lights went out…
Extinguished once more by those too afraid to let me shine.
It’s for my own good they claim;
“We’re on your side” they cry from the bank of the river
As they watch me flail around,
Dragged under by the current;
“We can’t give you the in-depth help you require” –
When all I asked of them was to throw me a line
And I’ll save myself from drowning just fine.
One word.
One simple line,
And my lungs would not be filled with silent screams
And bitter salty tears,
Stained red from the wounds they inflict
With each jab and kick,
At my absolute lowest.
None of this need be
If they would only help me…
Help me to help myself;
Prioritise my mental health.
Be human for a moment and see the person before them
Pleading, as she has her whole life,
To matter, to hear it and have her needs met;
Begging for once to get, that which she asks for.
For she’s only ever known rejection, deflection,
Detachment and denial of what could heal her heart.
Things given freely to others are withheld when she asks;
She’s learnt her needs come last.
I matter not to these folk…
Their idea of ‘help’ is an utter joke –
Help by denial of the one thing which would be of use,
For pitiful reasons they simply refuse,
Using any excuse
And leaving me to drown in a torrent of paranoia,
A deluge of pain,
A flood of anger and resentment as I circle the drain.
Nobody reaches a hand to pull me from these cold, lonely,
Devastating depths…
It’s too much trouble;
I’m not worth the bother.
So here I’ll drown… before their very eyes;
I’ll bid them all goodbye
And spare them the hassle of me being me.
I’ll set them all free,
Take one last desperate gasp of air
And give up the fight at last.



Just Not Working Anymore…

Working is so difficult at the moment. Doesn’t matter how little it is I do, it’s too much. It’s all too much. Life is too much. I’m only doing two afternoons a week, but hadn’t been in for two weeks because of the bank holiday, and the fact I was ill for a week.


Within minutes of going back in I regretted it. It was a little build-up of things. First was nobody listening to me, and talking over me with drivel… it was drivel. It was larking around, whereas what I had to say was relevant and important – I tried at least three times to repeat it… and they acted as if I didn’t say a word – this made me feel INVISIBLE… which is how I feel in my life with friends right now. Then I was constantly in the way. That’s because there’s too many bloody people working there now!! I’ve become irrelevant. I no longer feel appreciated or useful. It’s so hectic having so many of us in such a small space. And relationships aren’t as close as before. I feel I’m losing my place there. It was ever since I had to take a few weeks off for my mental health. When I came back we had the two extra people. I feel I was effectively replaced. I feel like a spare part now. Anyway, then someone came in and wanted help carrying stuff – I looked over to everyone else, thinking they’d be in a better position to do it than me, as I was busy. But no…. I had to do it. I have a bloody bad back, and I’m still not 100% over being poorly… which they don’t know about, as they never ask anything anymore. Knackered me, and my back, and got no thanks for it.


It just felt like I’m invisible, irrelevant, unappreciated and then used. I wouldn’t normally feel that way. Normally I’d feel more helpful and hardworking. But I feel like shit, physically and mentally at the moment, and nobody really cared about that.


I can’t cope with people right now. Every little thing is like a punch in the gut. With being so close to the edge already and wanting to give up on life, I can’t be dealing with feeling like this at work. Two days ago I was considering ways to end my life. Yesterday I considered quitting work – luckily it’s only voluntary so no problems there. I won’t quit yet. But my days there are numbered. And I’ll probably take a few weeks off now, because I just can’t cope with it.


I try so hard to pretend to be okay, and to function like the rest of them and fit in, but I cannot do it at the moment. I feel like I’m screaming for help inside. I’m broken down like a child, but I can’t show it. I have to just keep going, and pushing myself forward. Everyone wants me to make progress… in terms of work, health, self-care etc… I can’t make that progress. I don’t want to live. The things they want me to care about, to tick their boxes and make them happy, I honestly can’t care about right now. Nobody gets that. Because to anyone looking I probably look like a functional adult. They can’t see the hell I’m in. They likely don’t believe it’s as bad as I claim it is. Truth is it’s much worse than I could ever explain to anyone. I’m sick of it.


Many people would say you just have to keep going, and pushing yourself through the tough times…. keep going into work….. but I’ve tried that for months. All it does is push me closer to the edge. If I keep going, against what my heart is telling me I need to do, I will snap and do something I can’t recover from.


I desperately need help now. It’s been two months since I asked to be referred to mental health services, and I’ve not heard a thing. I’m not sure if they can help me, or if they’re willing to. But at the moment they’re my only hope. And until then I have to keep myself safe and protected from the world. I’m sorry, but if that means shutting myself away, staying offline, keeping to myself and focusing on self-care then so be it. Nobody understands how dangerous life feels for me right now. They don’t know the extent of my self-harm problems, my suicidal thoughts, my disturbing thoughts and paranoia, and how unreal life feels most of the time now.


I have people say things to me that they obviously think are helpful, and whilst I’m grateful to them for trying, they’re not reaching me. They’re giving me advice based on a milder version of what’s wrong with me. They think about what helped them, as if they felt exactly the same as me. But they misunderstand. Because I appear ‘normal’ and can communicate to some degree, they think I’m better than I am. When people are advising me, they think they’re talking to someone  who’s having a bit of a down day. They’re not. They are talking to someone standing on the edge of a cliff, staring over the edge, picturing the fall… deciding when to jump… convinced that it’s the only way things are going to end. Their comments just don’t reach me anymore. They’re things I could’ve tried long ago, but I’m beyond that now. Nobody seems to comprehend how bleak things are, and how close to done I am. Nobody.


I had a meltdown last night, seemingly over something stupid. But nobody really knew about that, as I hid away and when asked what I was upset about, I just said I’m finding things hard at the moment. I’m really just fed up with everything hurting so much. I feel I’m always doing the wrong thing. Even when I reach out for support now, I’m hurt by the words people say, and the words they don’t say. I’m hurt by who doesn’t respond. I’m hurt by the lines and everything I read in between them. I’m hurt by tone of voice. I’m hurt by looks. I’m hurt by silence. I’m hurt by everything, and I’m tired of not being able to cope with life like a normal person. I’m sick of being me, and I’m sick of being mentally ill.


I really feel that life is a rollercoaster ride that I never agreed to go on. I don’t like rides. But I feel I’m being forced to continue with it. I don’t want to. I want to get off. I want to stop. I want life to stop for a bit, let me recover and when I’m good and ready I’ll join in. Sadly this isn’t an option. But I can have time off work for my mental health. I don’t care if anyone disagrees with this method. I don’t care if people who want me to make progress with work stuff have a problem with it. If they really want me to keep going until I kill myself then screw them… that’s what will happen if I don’t stop. So I’m going to give myself the gift of a break… for as long as I need, to be able to face the world again. Right now life is a risk I can’t afford to face.



When They Ask… Tell Them…

*Note: This is not a suicide note… just me expressing the hurt I feel*



When they look back one day, wondering where it all went wrong…. what more they could have done to help me… why I didn’t ask for help…. tell them this…..


The signs were there. They were always there. They just didn’t want to see them. They just didn’t know what to do with them. They didn’t want me dragging them down with me.


I asked for help too many times to count, ranging from hints to blazing great statements. The most I got was a ‘like’. This says ‘I hear you’. It does nothing to help. It seems the more you ask for help, the less likely people are to give it, as they think you’re attention-seeking. But I only asked so much because it was never given.


Eventually I stopped reaching out. This did not mean I didn’t need help. It meant I realised my friends would never be there for me. They would always ignore my pleas. It hurt less to stay quiet.


They could have saved me six months ago. I made a video. I blogged. I tried to tell them I was starting down a path I knew would kill me. They ignored me then, they ignore me now. Now I’m so far gone I’m not who I was six months ago. There’s not enough of me left that’s worth saving. This is their fault. They could have stopped it going this far. They didn’t. Now there’s no way back.


At the time my granddad got sick, I was split from my friends, because of Hannah and others. At the time he passed I was still not connected with people properly. When I did my charity run in memory of him, hardly anyone supported me. On anniversary dates nobody was there for me. When I was away somewhere totally alone, and an important date happened, I reached out, and was ignored.  Nobody is ever there for me when I really need them. They don’t care about me and they don’t respect me. This is what killed me.


The isolation I feel because of grief, and because of my illness, is something they could have done something about. They should have been there. They’d better not come to my funeral and cry, or act shocked and upset and talk about how much I meant to them. I doubt they would anyway, as clearly none of them feel that way about me. But if they can’t show it in life, don’t you dare pretend to care in death.


Where it went wrong…? Try 2012. Try Gill and Sam. Try Hannah. Try Joe. They destroyed the person I once was. Other contributors: bullies at school; all those who shut down my voice because of my different political views; all those who publicly humiliated me; therapy gone wrong & the handling of Matt; losing Grampa & not having support from friends, plus family falling apart because they hurt my family; all the times people ignored me and excluded me; the world forgot me.


What more could they have done…? They could have listened. They could have responded to me… acknowledged me…. cared about me. They could have treated me like they did everyone else. They could have shown me not only was I visible, but I actually mattered. They could have said sorry when they hurt me. They could have changed so as not to hurt me again. They could have put in more effort. They could have spent more time with me. They could have told me they loved me…. that they missed me…. that they appreciated me. They could have included me more. They could have told the world, or even just me, that they were lucky to have me as a friend. They could have fought harder for me when I pushed them away. They could have learnt about my illness and how to make things better between us. They could have noticed me.


Tell them:

I only ever wanted to belong somewhere. I only wanted to love and be loved. I only wanted to feel accepted. I wanted a friend. I wanted a life. I wanted what you all had. Or at least a chance for it.


Tell him:

I never saw you as ‘the awkward loser’ or a consolation prize. I just hadn’t had any experiences with men. I was too new to it all. I liked you. I felt a special connection with you. I wish you had told me you felt the same, instead of settling for her. Who knows where I’d be right now. Perhaps I’d have a life worth living. I’ll always resent the way you ended things between us. You hurt me.


Tell her:

You ruined my life. You took everything from me. I hate you with every fibre of my being. You don’t deserve what you got. I could have achieved so much, but you destroyed it all. For a friend you showed very little care for my wellbeing. You got all you wanted, at my expense. I’ve never recovered from your betrayal. You killed me.


Tell him:

You destroyed my faith in men. You broke my spirit. You never deserved my love.


Tell him:

I loved you. Though it made no sense. I never felt so strongly for someone as I did for you. I only wished to have the blessing of you in my life, in any capacity. My soul recognised a kind soul… a beautiful soul. It could never recover from losing you. The pain of loss will be with me beyond the grave. I miss you.


Tell her:

One day we were friends. Through thick and thin. She came back into our lives and you took her side. Things were never the same after that. I always doubted my place in your life.  I knew that your circumstances would make us drift apart. I wasn’t wrong. You have no time for me now. All that time I was ignored, nobody was there, you were only there once I disappeared. You asked if everything was okay, I told you it wasn’t – that I felt invisible and like nobody cared… that I should keep to myself – silence was your answer to that. I’m sorry that the loss of you upsets me. I have nothing now.


Tell them: 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasted so much of your time, and zapped you of your joy. I’m sorry I was a burden. I’m sorry I was so demanding, and needed your friendship, for lack of anything else good in my life. I’m sorry I didn’t have the luck and success you had. I’m sorry I couldn’t be someone you wanted to have as a friend. I’m sorry my life was over before it began.


Why didn’t I ask for help…? I did ask for help. I prayed for help. I screamed for help to the bitter end. I didn’t give up without a hell of a fight. I deteriorated over an extended amount of time, but more rapidly in the last six months. Gone is the woman with a kind heart, a friendly smile, and anything to add to the world. I was reduced to a girl barely holding on… defeated, scarred, screaming bloody murder and suicide from the loneliest pit of despair. The care for others has gone. Everything’s gone. No joy, no hope. No more pretending. So distant from everyone, they’re practically strangers now. Not one of them helped when they had the chance. They let me die. I called out to them. I asked them to stop the hijacker taking me. They didn’t. They thought I was talking bullshit. But one day they’ll know. They’ll know I needed their help and they let me down. They could have saved me, but they chose to let me die.

The Lonely Night.

I feel painfully alone tonight. It’s a combination of things – politics is really getting me down at the moment. This Brexit deal – it’s divided people even more… even people I was united with in my views, this latest twist has made me feel completely out on my own with my views… in terms of ‘friends’ anyway. I feel so lost and confused about it all. I’m not happy with how it’s going, and I hear from some people it’s a disaster, a betrayal and then from others that it’s good. The trouble is my trust in the party I’ve supported all my life, is shaken. It’s hard to believe anything they say anymore. I’m really upset by the rhetoric in the media and in Parliament. They talk about it all as though we’re not PEOPLE who voted to leave… as though we’re mindless drones who were led up the garden path by Russian-backed propaganda. I’m sorry but that is fucking offensive. They say the division on this plan means we should have another referendum. They say the apparent ‘cheating’ by the Leave campaign means we should have another referendum. They say the stalemate in Parliament means we should have another referendum. NO!! Just stop disrespecting me. I’m sick of it. I’m so sick of it I’m actually crying as I write this. Stop ignoring my voice. I’ve been ignored all my fucking life. I’ve never got anything I wanted. And for once in my whole fucking life something went my way – we won the referendum, and now the people who always have it all, want to fucking rip it away from me. Well fuck you all.


This is what I mean – before the referendum we were bullied. It still happens now. People think we should just be ignored. It makes me feel violent rage and it scares me. I’m so fuming that this country is trying to ram it down my throat every single day that I am WORTHLESS. That my voice, my vote means nothing. That I’m wrong… a bad person… a xenophobic, stupid, uneducated, gullible, racist bigot. That I didn’t know what I was voting for. That I was brainwashed. That I was influenced by the Russians. That I believed the ‘lie’ on the side of a bus. That I’m a ‘self-harmer’ (well duh, but don’t bring mental health into politics). That I’m taking everyone with me off the edge of a cliff. Sorry, I’ll just throw myself off it, alone. An actual cliff though, not a mythical one.


Politics is mirroring my life. Bullying. Disrespect. Being ignored. People projecting onto me. The feeling of isolation and invisibility is sickening. I have a few people on Twitter who I can talk to about these things because they feel exactly as I do. But most of my friends don’t feel as I do about things. In fact they probably secretly despise me for being one of those ‘xenophobic, stupid Brexiters’. I feel like I’m the only one fighting the good fight, with everyone against me, thinking they’re fighting the good fight. It’s lonely being on this side… on the side of the silent majority… it makes you feel like you’re alone when you hear people on the other side make such noise between them, at your expense – trying to alienate you from the rest of the ‘decent, tolerant ones’. It’s emotional abuse. Trying to keep a barrier up to such abuse and not let it get to me, it’s so draining. I don’t think people realise that us voters have emotions and mental illnesses in some cases… they claim to be the kind ones, but when they’re pushing people towards suicide I don’t think they can rightly claim that kindness.


I’ve gone into one of my episodes of feeling disconnected from everyone. I obsess about people not interacting with me online. I’ll see so many things I share go unnoticed… which is no big deal – I don’t expect people to respond to everything. But I start thinking nobody’s acknowledged me for such a long time… then I’ll scroll through and see the last time someone ‘liked’ something was two or three days ago, and I feel stupid for thinking it was longer, and feel like such an attention-seeker. But then I’ll check to see how long it’s been since someone even commented on something I posted – 10 days… and I’ll start thinking that my friends aren’t bothered about talking to me. Is it something I’ve said or done? Then I’ll check my messages – there aren’t any. There’s one, that I haven’t replied to yet, and until I do, my inbox will be empty for all eternity.


Then I feel I’m alone with my mental illness. The most isolating, misunderstood, painful illness.


Then the physical loneliness of actually being away from people at the moment.


And then the thoughts of my granddad come in.


I tried a few things to stop myself from resorting to the usual… I immediately picked up my knitting and went and sat with the gerbils. I had a shower. I made myself an ice cream in a cone and started watching a film… couldn’t focus on it, so started writing this… was getting upset so messaged someone…. but I feel so ill now I just want to finish writing this and go to sleep.


The fact I’m alone is glaringly obvious tonight. The silence is gut-wrenching. The scream in my chest is overpowering. The hopelessness is drowning me. But all I can do is pray for a better day tomorrow.

Six Months On: I’m Drowning.

I'd rather swim off and drown alone, than with those who 'care' idly standing by.

*Mentions self-harm, suicide & contains bad language – apologies, it was an emotional piece to write*


It’s six months to the day since I had my breakdown at therapy. I know some would say to forget such things, and not remember dates. But I only do so with major events – like 7th May is the closest I’ve come to ‘doing something stupid’ (as those not affected by mental illness like to say!). This year will be three years since that day. I vividly remember what led to it… I remember how I felt walking towards the top of the bridge…. I remember what stopped me doing it, and the actions I took afterwards. It was a very dark day for me.

Likewise six months ago was the first time I have self-harmed outside of my house, and been caught. My self-harm has always been immensely private. I carry the burden which leads me to cut, I do it behind closed doors, I don’t tell people, I hide the scars. I had been for treatment once in my life, about ten years prior to last year, but otherwise I had always coped alone. I invested in steri-strips so I could treat the wounds myself. I never wanted to experience that again – not because it was a bad experience, but because I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I vowed never to need external help again. I learnt to ‘control’ my self-harm, so it was never bad enough to require special treatment.

That’s why the incident at therapy was such a shock. Clearly it was daft of me to have something on me, to do myself harm with. I was in a difficult place, and I was trying to deal with something challenging, which I couldn’t share with anyone else. I just had something with me, as insurance, in case it all went very badly. But I didn’t expect it to. I didn’t expect to use it.

But when faced with having to go back into the group, in the state I ended up in… I just couldn’t do it. I went off to the toilets, crying… I wasn’t in control of myself anymore. It was like I was watching someone else. Like it wasn’t really happening. Before I knew it I’d harmed myself worse than I ever have before. I vividly remember the sight of it, the panic, how angry I was with myself. I remember the throbbing pain. I remember being found out and the shame that brought. The guilt for making someone else feel to blame. The fear I’d be in trouble with the therapists. Having to tell people when I got home, and going to the hospital… how unreal it all felt… I remember how out of it I felt, and how focused I was on how sparkly the floor was in the waiting area. I remember all the times I had to go back to have the dressings changed. I remember the weeks of tendon pain radiating up into my hand. I remember saying it would never happen again…. but it did.

As ridiculous and twisted as it sounds, ever since then I’ve been chasing that feeling. I don’t know why. I can only assume to bring me some comfort, in the reminder of the support I had… and the people I lost. My transference issue is not resolved. Although I talked to a therapist about it afterwards, and left feeling positive about it, like it was attached to my grief, the reality is it’s not. I can’t get over my feelings for him. I don’t want to. I just want to see him again. And I guess in some distorted way I feel that repeating this incident would achieve that. But the reality is it won’t. No matter how many times I hurt myself, or how deep the wounds… I’ll never see him again…

I didn’t choose this. That’s why it feels so bad. It’s not like a death, where there is no choice – the person is gone, and isn’t coming back. Losing someone who is still alive is worse. Because it doesn’t have to be that way. So in a sense it feels like a punishment. Like it’s being inflicted on me… this loss.

He was a light in a long period of darkness for me. And now that light has gone and it’s pitch black. I don’t feel I’ll ever see light again. Someone once said to me that I’d likely feel this way again in a similar situation… I don’t believe I would. This is specific to him. I’ve got to give credit where it’s due – he was a wonderful human being from what I could tell, and it’s the person I liked, not just the role, or the fact he was a man – I’m not the sort of person to just fall for everyone… Maybe it’s not transference after all. Maybe it was just attraction… and attachment. I know that the loss linked into my personal loss last year. But my feelings for him didn’t.

I can’t believe it’s been six months since that event. I can’t believe it’s been nearly four months since I last saw everyone… it feels longer than that. The time with him went so fast, and the time since has been an age. I switch between wishing I never had therapy, and never met him… and being thankful that I got the chance to have him in my life, even for such a brief time… to think I could have gone through my whole life never encountering him…but then maybe that would’ve been a good thing – to never know someone like him existed out there… someone so lovely, who couldn’t be in my life. Sometimes it’s worse to be shown something good and have it snatched away, than to never have seen it to start with.

The dark patch I’m in is more than to do with ‘a guy’ though. It’s grief. It’s the whole experience of therapy which worsened my mental health and self-harm, which I can’t get over now. It’s just an illness, where I feel nobody gives a crap about me. It’s the fact my friends don’t talk to me anymore. They either don’t like me, or they forget I exist, leaving me to deal with my mental illness, my poor health and my grief all alone. I know it shouldn’t be a big deal, but last week it was a year since my granddad died. The first ‘anniversary’. I posted on my Facebook about it, and not ONE person said they were thinking of me, or hoped I was okay. Not ONE. They all completely ignored it, save for one ‘like’. I’ve never felt as alone and unsupported as that. I don’t know how to forgive that. And then I was really ill, and still there was silence, no sympathy. I felt either they have unfollowed me, so didn’t see my posts, as I’m that much of a nuisance, or they genuinely don’t care about me. I know I’ve been told to not expect too much of people, but FFS this is ridiculous. I’ve just had a really difficult week, and where the hell were they all??

I know that when you’re mentally ill… when you have depression it can trick you into thinking your friends all hate you, you’re all alone and you’re a terrible person… but this is more than that. This is proof they all hate me, I AM all alone and I must be a terrible person. Not ONE person gave a fuck about the grief. I’m sorry, but when I’ve seen others post about their previous losses, years back, they get comments of support and caring. This is my first loss. My first year after it. And where was the fucking support??? WHERE?! I’m seriously despising people right now. How can they do this to me? Why does everyone else get support, particularly when they ask for it, but I go ignored?! It makes me think they wouldn’t give a shit if I killed myself. It makes me think they’d be relieved, as they’re all obviously pissed off with me now.

If mental illness tricks you into thinking you’re all alone, then shouldn’t my friends at least be trying to convince me they do care? Shouldn’t support come from them, rather than from strangers on Twitter?? What the fuck is the point in having friends if they NEVER have your back?? I’m so through with people. I’m so sick of feeling so alone all the time. And no matter how many times I reach out to people and say this is how I feel, they never change. They never care. They never say a word. I’m going to close down my Facebook, there’s no point in it anymore. It only makes me feel more isolated and left out. Even with the group I thought I was going to be a part of. I said I couldn’t see everyone as a group right now. Now I feel excluded. I didn’t mean I didn’t want them to talk to me. I didn’t mean I don’t want to see them one-on-one. I just couldn’t handle the whole group, as it would remind me of being in therapy, and would make me hurt over losing ‘him’. But I see them all talking to each other, seeing each other, and I’m just a nobody again… like I felt in therapy. I felt like an outsider, because of the struggles I was going through privately. I isolated myself, and it seems I’ve unwittingly done the same again here. So I give up. All my life I’ve been excluded – even at primary school… this has been my fate. I’ve felt left out… left behind…. this is only reminding me of group stuff from 2012, where my life plummeted down. I can’t take any more of this.

That year was hard. Last year was harder. Last week was hard. Today is hard. Tomorrow will undoubtedly be hard. And I feel people are training me to cope with it all completely alone. I’ve never known so much indifference to my pain, from friends. It’s sickening, and breaks my heart. I really must be that worthless in everyone’s eyes.

Nothing feels right at the moment. It’s such chaos in my head. I’m so irrelevant to people. Some would say I’ll matter to someone one day… no I won’t. If in my 32 years of life I haven’t mattered enough to one person, then it’ll never happen. It’s the pain of realising how forgettable I am, and unimportant… and having nobody to help me challenge that… and having met someone and lost them forever… and going through my grief alone… and feeling nobody understands me, or wants to understand me… feeling like a burden and an annoyance to people… thinking it would be better for everyone in this world if I wasn’t here anymore… how much easier it would be for me to not have to bear this agony every single day…. alone.

I feel like my friends are watching me spiral downwards, and don’t care enough to stop me… to help me. In what universe is that okay? If it was anyone but me, they would be there for them. They would step in and save their life. But it’s me. I’m just a tiny speck of shit on a muddy shoe.

I know people have probably seen sides to me they don’t like lately. But you know what, if they can’t see and understand my increasing problem with my mental illness, and just think I’m a shit person instead, then fine, they don’t deserve me on my good days. I want people to acknowledge I’m struggling, and not hold it against me, but help me hold on to hope. Because I see none. I want them to go out of their way to show me they care. I want to matter to someone! Seriously if that makes me ‘attention-seeking’ then so be it, but nobody knows the lack of these things I’ve had in my life. Nobody knows what it’s like to have been made to feel worthless for 32 years – not by family, but by the outside world. I’ve never felt like I’ll fit in, and if friends can’t even make me feel that way then what bloody hope is there??

I’m not a nice person when I’m mentally unwell. That much is clear from things I say and write. I know writing blogs about my feelings might upset people, but I wish they understood I have no other option. It’s my only way to cope right now, given that nobody talks to me. It’s that or do something bad. I’m not meaning to make excuses for what I’m like right now. I just wish my friends could see me drowning and care enough to hold out a hand to save me… or at least throw in a life jacket to keep me afloat. It’s gutting to see them standing on the bank, turning their backs on me as I go under. Nobody could understand that feeling unless they’ve been there. It’s enough to make someone want to end their life.

I may not be dealing with things in the way others think best. But who are they to judge the way I cope and stay alive, if they don’t offer me another option? Some may wonder why I choose this road, but they fail to see that for me it is the only road. By all means if you can think of another way of helping me, I’m all ears. But if not, then please don’t stand by and judge me. I do what I do because I have nobody to turn to.

My depression and BPD already make me feel like the lowest of the low. It makes me feel I’m a bad person. I’m sorry I’m asking too much for people to remind me it’s not true. Silence only confirms my worst fears. And I’d rather swim off and drown alone, than with those who ‘care’ idly standing by.

I’ve never felt this alone.

When Therapy Does More Harm Than Good.

* Self-harm and a lot of very bad language, I’m sorry *



I find myself being a ball of thoughts and emotions today. Last night fucked me up royally.

I found myself at the MIU at the hospital again after my CBT group. I had gone home and harmed myself badly. The nurse who treated me was appalled that this was the second time I had come away from therapy, harming myself. But she said it’s not the first time she’s heard of it doing that to people. I explained to her that the course is opening up a lot for me, and I’m not getting the support with it. I told her I’m unlikely to finish the course now. I can’t keep coming away worse than when I went. In the couple of months I’ve been there I have ended up at the hospital twice (two of only three times in my life). But I have harmed myself more times at home and not sought treatment. This isn’t right.

Yesterday I asked one of the therapists if I would receive any help with my transference issue at all, as I was concerned that this can of worms had been opened, and I would be left to deal with it on my own. I can’t recall everything that was said, only what I took from what was said… the message I received was that I have to be my own therapist, use mindfulness, and pretty much get over it. It either magically sorts itself out, or I have to stop working with the therapist I’m transferring on. So no mention of help working through it. Fuck that. So I come to therapy to try and help me recover, I have this massively distressing thing come up, and I’m expected to shrug it off or be forced to face a traumatic loss that I’m already dreading. “If you can’t get over it by yourself I’ll abandon you”… that’s how it feels to me. That is so fucking awful to convey to someone like me. I feel utterly powerless and alone. That’s why I harm myself nowadays… I have no control over anything. And things like last night’s conversation DO NOT help.

I wasn’t being listened to, understood or heard. I give up trying to get them to understand me. What’s the point? I wish I’d never even mentioned this issue to them in the first place. The way they’ve handled it, or rather NOT handled it, has set me back years. I am so fucking angry with them as a service. I’ve lost all trust and faith in them. My interaction with the one yesterday made me realise they don’t give a fuck about me, and I really am as alone as I have always felt… they’ve stirred up this shit-storm for me and don’t care what it does to me. The other therapist didn’t help me when I specifically asked for their help, abandoning me when I needed them…. ‘for my own good’, to get me to push myself – I don’t trust their motives now. Both of them have ruined my problem-solving attempts, by rejecting what I had decided to do. They’re fucking useless.

And I feel so upset to have to say that, because only a few weeks ago I was so grateful to them, and desperately sad about losing them. But this set-up isn’t working for me. They’re leaving me in distress and without support.

I told the therapist last night that I didn’t feel safe. They asked if I had the means on me to harm myself, and I said no, and inside my head I was screaming ‘I WISH I DID!!!’ … they asked about how I could keep myself safe tonight… I honestly didn’t know. They just don’t seem to understand my pain and suffering right now. I am getting worse. And they still don’t want to know.

They don’t even seem to recognise how fucking hard I’ve been working every single fucking week to be there, and do the homework and make progress, despite this agonising feeling. The therapist said about it being a block to therapy… which is what I had said originally… I then changed that and said the block is denying it, pushing it away and seeing it as something other than an aspect of therapy. Now here he was saying it’s a block! NO. The BLOCK is the way it’s being handled, i.e. it’s NOT. Why can’t it be acknowledged?! Why can’t my feelings and pain be validated?! Why can’t I NOT be made to feel like a fucking burden / nuisance / unlovable / disgusting / awful freak, for having feelings I don’t want to have.

I should never have said anything and I’m so angry with myself for having done so. I SHOULD have done what I’ve always done and stuffed my feelings down, and suffered in silence. These therapists are teaching me that’s the best way to live. All this therapy is demonstrating to me at this point is that every belief I have about myself and other people / life, is correct. I’m a worthless piece of shit who should kill herself, then they won’t have to deal with me anymore. I hate myself, I hate them, I hate life, and I give up on all of it.

I didn’t open my mouth at all in the session last night. I disappeared during the break. And I left the session quickly, without saying goodbye. Nobody noticed me at all. The therapists, particularly the one I spoke to before the session, didn’t even look at me once. I might as well have not been there. I was invisible. Body language towards me was different. I felt rejected and isolated. During a role-play, discussing ways you could say no to someone, they joked about different answers, and said ‘My granddad died – my other granddad’… and I found that insensitive since that’s exactly what I’m struggling with right now. So I took that personally.

I battled graphic images of what I wanted to do to myself when I got home. In the break I sat in the toilets and decided I would do it. I felt calmer in the second half as I knew I had self-harm to turn to when I got home. I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

I don’t know if they realise they’re destroying me. And if they realise, I’m not sure they actually care. I have three more sessions. I wanted to spend those sessions making the most of their company, and joining in with the group. But I’ve never felt more alienated in my life. I feel so stupid for ever mentioning transference. I feel ashamed I’m getting worse and harming more. I wanted to be on good terms with them, but now I don’t feel I am, especially since I was totally ignored and blocked out of vision last night. I feel I’ve pissed them off, they’ve had enough of me, they hate me, I disgust them, they’ve given up on me. Which is fine. I’ve given up on myself.

The only good thing is I’m seeing the doctor before the next session, so I can speak to her and decide what’s best for me. I’ll tell her everything and she might say there’s a better service for me. These people are only compounding my problems and leaving me to deal with them alone. This should not be allowed in someone with BPD. It’s dangerous. But I get the sense they don’t give a fuck about that. ‘All lives matter‘, apart from mine apparently. Whatever.

Baby Steps Through Anger.

Baby Steps Through Anger


Nobody knows the truth of the last week for me. So I’m going to write it here, to unburden myself.

I struggled at the CBT group session last week. I was anxious, I’d taken a diazepam, I gave a note to one of the therapists asking for them to help me speak out at the start, and she didn’t. I left with suicidal thoughts. A member of the group appeared to snub me on the way out. I went home and self-harmed, couldn’t sleep, considered phoning the Samaritans, but don’t like using the phone, and couldn’t risk no answer. So the next morning texted the other therapist as I had his number, and it wouldn’t require speaking on a phone. I got no answer. This sparked off reminders of the past for me, and many different emotions. Nobody in my life knows how much I’ve been struggling in the last couple of weeks or why.

In total honesty, I went to my session last night, prepared to harm myself or much worse. I felt really angry at the therapists and group… seethingly so. When we started with a grounding mindfulness, this just pissed me off. I couldn’t take part in it properly, as I was fuming. So in the feedback I told them that. I told them that I went away the last week, in a bad state of mind, and although we were told we could talk to them if we didn’t feel safe, I felt unable to, because of the point they kept making about time restrictions. I told them it made me feel like a burden, therefore unable to open up to them anymore. I also said about the text I sent and not getting a response, and how that triggered the memories of the past. I was so upset and angry as I spoke I had to stop and breathe, so I didn’t burst into tears. My voice shook, but these things needed saying, or else I would’ve walked right out of there and not come back. I told them I had thought of quitting the group.

I was commended for being brave enough to say anything, and for being honest. But not much else came from it at that point. I didn’t receive an apology for being ignored. I didn’t feel a resolution on the other issue, so my anger didn’t subside. It bubbled underneath for almost the whole first half of the session.

One good thing was the member of the group who appeared to snub me the previous week, publicly apologised to me for it… which felt awkward and embarrassing for me, as I’m sure it did for them too, but was nice that they had recognised what they said, and what effect it might have had on me.

But the anger towards the therapists kept simmering underneath. At times I felt I wasn’t listening to other members of the group. I wanted so many times, to excuse myself and go outside for a break, as I couldn’t stand looking at the therapists, particularly the one who ‘ignored’ my text. Their voices were pissing me off, and I wanted to get out of there and harm myself. But I sat with the anger, and eventually it did come down, like a wave. I kept telling myself ‘Just make it to the break’… and I did. But just before the break, my feelings were dredged up again by one of the therapists, and I became desperate to get out of there.

As soon as the break started, I headed for the toilets, and sat in a cubicle, trying to calm down by breathing. It wasn’t working. It didn’t feel enough. So I admit, I harmed myself… not quite as badly as before, but enough to need to treat it again. I kept listening out, hoping nobody was going to come into the toilets. And just as I was finishing up, I heard someone coming in and thought ‘Oh shit, not again’. It was the therapist. I told her I was okay and just needed some time away from everyone. I chatted with her through the cubicle door, not giving away what I’d done, all the while trying to bandage my arm back up as quickly as possible, so that she wouldn’t suspect anything.

By the time I came out of the cubicle, someone else came into the toilets, which likely distracted her, so I quickly washed the blood off my hands. She then said either we could have a quick chat and miss the first five minutes of the second half, or she could phone me today to chat, rather than me feeling rushed at the end. I went for the quick chat, as I thought I wouldn’t be able to carry on otherwise.

When we came out of the toilets, the other therapist was lurking, probably concerned I’d harmed myself again, and he wanted to apologise for not responding to the text. He said he didn’t receive one. However he was aware of a ‘multimedia message’, which he thought might’ve been spam. His work phone is an old sort of phone, so probably didn’t even share my number, I assume, otherwise I’d wonder why he wouldn’t open it. He said he wouldn’t ignore me if I was in distress. It was just because obviously my message was too long, and didn’t come through like it would on a more modern phone. Unfortunate. And going to be hard to get over, as it kicked up a lot of shit for me.

I went for my chat with the female therapist, and told her the week I’d had. She recognised that I had faced three situations, effectively in the space of a day, whereby I felt rejected or abandoned, and how that would’ve felt. She confirmed what I had thought about her lack of support the previous week, in speaking out, and said it was because she knew I could do it myself, and wanted me to push myself to do it. This still pisses me off actually, as that’s not helpful to me right now. I needed the support. And now I don’t know if I can trust their motives. It makes me feel more alone.

I went back in the room and felt less angry, but aware of the pain in my arm. But they’ll never know about that. I’ve become good at hiding my pain and pretending nothing is wrong. I even put on a brave and happy front at home. Nobody will know. I guess in a way this shows I’ve gone backwards even more, as my self-harming always used to be very secretive like that.

But last night I decided enough is enough. I put self-care ahead of anything else. That’s why I didn’t stay up and write this blog last night. I put self-soothing and sleep ahead of it. I’m also going to create a ‘Crisis box’… a nicely decorated box, with things in it that can help me in a crisis – colouring book, chocolate, a favourite film, photographs of my Godchildren, and anything else I can think of – with reminders in it of why I don’t want to cut too. I need to stop self-harming. If for no other reason than I’m running out of space! I realise it’s spiralling out of control, and I don’t want to be that person again. I’m ashamed of who I am at the moment, but I need to be self-compassionate in my approach to stopping.

Obviously I can’t carry the box with me when I’m out, but I’m going to try the rubber band technique when I’m outside the house if I get an urge, and dig into the crisis box when I get home if needs be.

I need to look after myself. Nobody else will. Nobody knows I have self-harmed three times in a week – that’s the worst it’s been in many, many years. It’s my secret… though you now know it too…. so I alone have to face the consequences and pick myself back up. Nobody else can do it for me. They don’t know my suffering. I have to be my own therapist, my own best friend and my own carer. It’s either that or give up entirely and self-destruct. But I’m choosing to TRY and get better.

I hope to start sharing more positive news with you soon. But the positive parts I can take from last night, are that I was brave enough to speak out and tell them what I thought, and how I felt. I got apologies and explanations in the end – unfortunate that it was AFTER I had self-harmed. Things could have played out much worse – they could have discovered my self-harm and kicked me off the course… or I could have done it, run out and killed myself, as it played out in my head. So to just harm myself to the level I did, is a small ‘victory’… I’m still here to tell the tale and learn from the experience. I witnessed that anger can subside on its own, which I’ve not really experienced before – I’ve usually reacted and harmed myself to get rid of it, rather than just feeling it. I have come away more determined to stop harming. And I will never take something to harm myself with again, no matter how awful I might feel, and how big a confrontation I sense coming. I will deal with it in a different way from now on.

I want to make the most of the last sessions I have with the therapists. In four weeks I’ll have said goodbye to them forever. This breaks my heart. I don’t want to spend that time being bitter towards them. I want to try my best and take some steps forward. I have to, else this has all been for nothing.