Bathing with knives

Okay so this is a weird way to start a blog, I guess, but lets give it a try anyway.  This is all about giving myself an outlet, where I can freely say all of the things that I don’t want to tell anyone else. Not even my husband, because if people I care about knew how I truly felt, they’d never leave me on my own.

I think it’s important to mention that you can feel suicidal, and yet not be suicidal. There’s this ultimate feeling of not wanting to live but not having any intention of taking your own life. It’s quite a common feeling so I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. As an estimation, I guess I feel this way about 90% of the time. I almost want to make this pact with the world that this omniscient presence should just involve me in some weird freak incident where I, and I alone, perish.  Because as weird as it sounds, I want to die, I just don’t want to do the act myself. Like I would hurt people because of that, but maybe if it were an accident it wouldn’t be so bad.

So lets skip forward a bit.

It’s a Saturday and I’ve been feeling particularly down and having this niggling feeling of just wanting the world to swallow me up, to cease my existence. There are no particular reasons for this, nothing has happened, I’m just perpetually melancholy and I have been since childhood. I’m moping around, crying for no reason. I desperately want my husband to understand how I feel, but I don’t want to speak the words because it seems so unreal when you say it. I tell him over and over that he wont understand and that I’m scared to be left on my own. After him begging me to answer as to why this is, I finally tell him that I’m afraid of what I’ll do while he’s gone, not because it will hurt me, but because I don’t want to hurt him.

Please note that this breakdown started when he wanted us to go on a simple dog walk (I find it difficult to leave the house).

He hugs me and tells me to trust him and that we’ll sort it out. Then he puts me in the car and we take our four legged children to the New Forest. And it was nice. But what he doesn’t realise is that these moments are fleeting for me. It puts me into a false sense of security, I’m at a high point for a brief time and feel like maybe things could be okay again.

When we get home, I start preparing dinner. Chopping up some sweet potatoes to make burgers and wedges. This is when he says we can talk about things that upset me, now that we’re home. It’s stupid things, things that people wouldn’t usually get insanely jealous over. It’s inevitable that he’ll find other women attractive. However, in my head that translates to ‘you’re not good enough’. These women, they’re the complete opposite of me. I’m medium height, brunette, I weigh about 71Kg, although it fluctuates. I carry most of my weight in my arse and thighs, chin and lower stomach. These women, they’re perfect. They’re slim, blonde women with blue eyes. They have toned thighs with beautifully protruding round bottoms and enormous boobs. All of this tied together with a perfect face and a tiny waistline. The kind of woman you can’t compete with, the kind that you can’t even dream of coming close to.

Yes, I understand that it is illogical to compare myself to these women. He married me and he loves me, but I’m nothing like what he is attracted to and is it so bad to want to be that? You have to try to understand. I’m not jealous because he finds people attractive. I feel this way because it makes me feel like I am nothing, insignificant.

Anyway, I mention about some amateur porn star he follows and how he can’t use her ‘getting fit’ and ‘just admiring how much effort she puts in with exercise’ as an excuse. How he must just like looking at her. To which he replies, ‘Yeah, so?’. This is normal, okay, I know that I’m not delusional. Just severely mentally ill. I tell him to leave me alone and he does, of course he does.

A million thoughts go through my mind and I just hate every inch of myself. I want to cut off all of my excess skin, I don’t want to be in this body anymore. I grab the nearest knife, hide it in my bag, and go to run a bath.

I sit in this bath for so long, I don’t have any awareness of time, I just keep filling up the bath with hot water. I don’t know what I want to do, what  I came to do, the knife is just sitting beside me resting on that little handle bit in the bath. I figure I’ll just test it out, see how sharp it is, how it feels on my skin. I’ve cut myself before, not with a knife mind you, it’s actually weirdly therapeutic. The thing about this is I picked up the worst knife. It was so blunt and the end was bent from overuse. I tried cutting my skin and I pressed really hard, believe me I wasn’t scared of the pain, but it just wouldn’t do anything, it just left these cat scratches.

I felt defeated. I traced over all of the parts of me that I hated, wanting just to be able to slice them off. I wanted to pierce my belly and let all of me spill out. Yet, I just sort of sat there, trying to cut myself (failing), just feeling empty.

My husband came in after a while, he was laughing at me, I was on my belly in the bath so I guess it kind of looked funny. He didn’t know that I was on my belly because I was dunking my head underwater wondering if there were anyway to actually drown yourself in a bath.

He stopped laughing. Reached across me and grabbed the knife. Asked me if there were anymore and made me stand up, naked and vulnerable, to see if there were any more. He took away anything sharp, anything harmful and sat watching me until I got out. I hadn’t taken a towel, I didn’t have much intention of getting out of that bath. He grabbed it and watched me as I did everything, dried myself, got dressed. I had never felt so vulnerable with my husband seeing me naked as I did then. I wanted desperately to just evaporate into thin air.

You see, I would kill myself. But I know it might not work. It sounds dumb but I am cowardly. I don’t want to suffer even more, so if there were a guaranteed way to do it then I would.

And I hate when people call you selfish for wanting that. You don’t understand how it is to be me, and I don’t understand how it is to be you. My mind, it isn’t right. I can’t feel happiness the way most people can. I feel empty or pain with the occasional moments. Those moments rarely feel worth it.

Anyway, I’m kind of rambling on. Long story short, it didn’t amount to much, just a very angry spouse. And I’m okay. I’m not going to go and slit my wrists imminently.

But yes, I do still feel suicidal.

It Begins With The Paunch

Body image is something I seem to really be struggling with. It’s this presence that just looms over me whilst I try to ignore it, push it away. I feel like this isn’t working for me. Trying to ignore shit, pretend like I’m okay with my body, that it’s genetics. Fuck genetics. I want to be one of those women that have bodies that don’t look real. Even if they’re not real. I don’t care. It’s what I want.

And it’s so fucking dumb, because I still obsess over shit that happened months ago. For instance, before we were married, when we had only been together a few months, my now husband followed all kinds of perfect women. All kinds of erotic blogs. All that shit you don’t want to see, but you become addicted to checking it; seeing their activity, what they like, what they really like. He stopped. We argued about it all a couple times but slowly he’d stop doing them one by one. It started with the blogs, they really got to me. I don’t even do half the shit that’s on there, let alone look like these women with their tiny bodies and their neat pussies. Next was liking shit, you know, those ‘fitness’ pictures. And later he stopped following and unfollowed all of those kind of people, he said that once I explained to him how it made me feel he understood. But in all honesty I think it’s just because I was going through a complete break-down.

But none of it stops my paranoia, my insecurities, from going hungry and then binging. weighing myself twice a day, writing it all down, measuring every part of me that I hate and writing  it down. I just find new things to get annoyed about. Oh, you mentioned that you once dated someone? Who are they? Tell me everything. Were they thinner than me? Prettier? Did they have bigger boobs? Smaller nipples? What about their pussy, I bet it was nicer, tighter? You saw them sleep?! You had SLEEPOVERS?!

Yes I understand it’s completely psychotic and paranoid and I understand that I am slowly destroying my relationship, but I genuinely can’t stop and I can’t control these thoughts and feelings. I am also incapable of holding some things to myself, mostly when I’m paranoid about something, not so much my own feelings of insecurity.

Anyway. I decided to try and find something to put all of these feelings and thoughts into. Rather than ignoring everything, maybe it’s better to put a pen to paper. I used to love drawing, but studying it made me hate it. It felt like a chore and they never wanted me to do what I loved, teachers would push you to try the new fads that were current and it’s just not what I wanted. I haven’t drawn in a long time. The only times I draw now are to make gifts for people, very occasionally. But I thought if I could draw what I see, how I see myself. Highlighting the parts of me that I hate. Maybe I could get it out. At least enough to gain some kind of self control.

So I’m starting a series of line drawings. They’re not anything special. But I’m already kind of loving them. They feel like the best work I’ve done in a long time, maybe ever. They’re not easy to do, studying the areas of my body I hate and translating that into these bold lines. It’s important though. So I figured I’d start to put them on here.


I’m going to start with the things I hate about myself, probably in order. This is definitely the thing I hate the most. My paunch.

I still have all of these feelings, all of this paranoia. I mean straight after  drawing these and staring at these horrible photos I looked at my husbands likes on his old blog. Likes that I know were from months ago (he doesn’t use it anymore, or if he does he uses it under a name I don’t know about), but I still stare at that shit and hate every inch of myself. I’ll never be enough. Or maybe I’m too much, there’s definitely too much of me. But drawing is a start.


No End In Sight

It  is a very odd feeling, almost like purgatory, when you are at a loss because nothing works for you.

This week another therapist admitted that she couldn’t help me. That is better than what most do I might add.

Previously I have seen a therapist through the NHS when I was 17. This was through a national service called CAHMS. My therapist seemed so nice, he had come down from another hospital as a guest therapist to fill in for a while. Talking to him seemed to help at first. I had told him about the previous abuse, about my relationship with my mother, he probably knew more about me than anyone else at the time. Once you turn 18 you have to be passed on to the adult service. However, he deemed me fit enough to leave CAHMS, even though I was still an absolute mess and was still self-harming and having suicidal thoughts. I convinced myself that maybe he was right, but I know now that the paperwork was just too much effort.

I didn’t see another therapist until I was 21, after I first realised I had extreme anxiety and what I now know to be anxiety attacks, not panic attacks. My dad wanted to pay for one this time. He so wanted me to get better and despite our lack of cash he found one that had good recommendations and sent me to her. We didn’t do much. She sort of sat and watched me, made me feel uncomfortable and uneasy about speaking to her. She would tell me CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) techniques to do on my own and that was pretty much it to be honest. She didn’t want to hear about my past, the things that dwell on my mind. I think I needed someone that could listen and help me rationalise. I realise now as well that we were paying triple the normal price of a psychiatrist here. Her techniques didn’t work I started a new job and quit within a week because I was crying to much to drive or get on the train.

My dad had then heard about this excellent lady who hypnotises people and teaches them less traditional techniques of coping with their depression/anxiety. Understand that for the most part my depression has always been relatively manageable, but my anxiety stops me from completing day-to-day activities. So I met with this lady and she was beyond lovely. We had a good laugh and a chat and I left feeling so positive that her techniques would work. She didn’t hypnotise me, she thought she had put me into a sleep but I was very well aware of everything that was going on at the time. The techniques would help to take my mind off of things for all of five minutes until I realised I wasn’t thinking about it anymore.

At this point I thought I was having panic attacks, not anxiety attacks, and still did up until this week. Perhaps if it had been panic attacks these techniques may have worked. They only tend to last a short while and wont really recur too much too quickly. My anxiety attacks will last the entirety that I am out of my comfort zone. That is why ‘taking my mind off of it’ does not work, it is not an effective method for this.

Flash forward to my newest session this week, I signed up for a local service that offer CBT. I went and met with the lady. I was 20 minutes late to my appointment and they still let me in, I think that I know why now. She spoke to me a little about the service and and the quiz that I had filled in online. I was scoring very high and it was clear that my anxiety and depression were severe and triggered by social and work situations. Also that I have some specific phobias and such. Anyway, she was asking me questions so get to know my illness a bit better. It was all going well until I mentioned these little OCD things that I do. For some reason that then made her ask if I’d been through anything that someone may call traumatic. I explained that I had been abused a couple of times and had a lot of issues with my mother. She said that my issues were too deep rooted for CBT and that They could not treat me for risk of making me worse.

This is the most honest that anyone in the medical profession has ever been with me. My only issue now is what to do next. I feel as though I have exhausted all of my options. That I am too deeply fucked up for anyone to get through to. Which is weird because deep down I really don’t feel like these occurrences are what made me fucked up, I feel like I was born like this. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t sad.

Anyway, life sucks and there’s no sign of recovery anytime soon, so…


Right now I’m sat here, watching shit on Netflix, wondering when the fuck I’m going to get my life together.

Currently, I spend my days doing the basic house work, keeping the dogs company and just trying to pass the time until my husband comes home. Anyone that has read any of my blog posts before will know that I have pretty bad anxiety. It stopped my from working. This was okay, for a while, because I was deemed crazy enough by the government to get help. Unfortunately they stop all of that once you get married, because supposedly you don’t count as your own person anymore and your poor husband has to pick up the mess. Now don’t get me wrong. I really fucking want to work. I’m bored out of my mind and I’m sure it makes me more crazy, but I know that working your average job involving a million social interactions just makes me so much worse.

So, I’m sat here and I’m watching this programme called ‘Girl Boss’ and at first I kind of relate to her, she doesn’t have much drive, she can’t keep a job. But then this bitch gets her shit together and now I’m feeling even more worthless than before.

I’ve been looking at jobs for the past hour. Applying to everything that doesn’t completely scare me, but all of these things require experience. Experience with animals, experience in hospitality. You name it and your dream job requires something that I don’t have. And, of course, having fucking load of pets and taking care of other peoples pets, fostering dogs and pet sitting doesn’t fucking count.

My point is, I’m trying to get better, I really am. I desperately want a job so that I can save some money and contribute towards things so that my husband isn’t always so tight for cash, so that we can do things every now and then, maybe even save up and take a holiday one year. We never even got a honeymoon. Mostly, I want a job because in two months he’ll be away in Canada until the end of October and I’ll be stuck here waiting for the days to pass until he’s back, but it wont be so easy when it’s two months and not just a day. I want to try to work again, to do something so that I can progress and eventually do something that I love. That helps me get better rather than setting me back every time I walk into the place. But finding something that can bridge that gap is proving impossible and until then I’m just everyones favourite money-suck.

Wish me luck,


From self-love to self-hate

A few months ago you would have found me on Instagram, promoting self-love, embracing my body and celebrating it. I seem to find myself at a difficult point now, where my mental state has taken a steer in the completely opposite direction.

I’m 22 years old and I can’t seem to stop putting on weight,  or at least thats how I feel. I weighed about a stone more last summer, yet it seemed to sit in all of the right places, I didn’t have a little paunch, my thighs didn’t seem to have quite as much cellulite. And to be honest, I’m not sure what is normal anymore.

I feel like I don’t eat too badly, I have cereal for breakfast, beans and cheese on toast for lunch and a relatively healthy dinner (I never cook with potatoes only sweet potatoes). I’ve been exercising most days for the past three weeks, under the advice of my husband to try and lift my spirits, but I seem to be putting on more and more weight. Granted, some days my eating habits are worse than others, but overall I think I have a relatively good or normal diet. It has been this way for a while and I don’t understand why I would still be putting on weight.

I guess mostly I feel betrayed by my body, because I’m actually trying for once. I’ve always been one of those to pick up and drop exercise very quickly or slack at it. I feel like I’m growing outwards constantly and my self-confidence is at an all time low.

I feel horrible about myself, I don’t want to look in the mirror and I cry when I think about my spiralling weight, because I don’t want to get fat, I can’t bear it. I’m beginning to feel hopeless again. Some people may think it is a pathetic and shallow thing to be so worried about, but it is important to me. Especially when I  know my husband likes those fitness types that are all toned and taught. It’s frustrating, almost as though you want to die because you don’t want to be in this body anymore, you want a fresh start.

I’m not a naturally skinny person regardless, I’m curvy and I’ve always felt chubby. This is something else. It’s as though my whole image has changed to me, I constantly see a bulging stomach, a double chin and cellulite covering my body. I feel it, when I sit or lay a certain way, I feel all of my excess fat bunching up. I hoist up my jeans a bit higher to tuck in my lower paunch.

My husband has grown tired of it all and I don’t blame him, it’s a daily grind listening to me bash on myself constantly. He’s bored of reassuring me because I ignore or dismiss his comments. But I don’t want to be told I’m fine the way I am. I want to be admired, to be beautiful, sexy, irresistible.

I’m not sure how much of this is in my head and how much of this is real. I’m not sure how to think or feel about anything now. Some times, very rarely, I’ll look at myself and think that I look great. They are fleeting moments that are demolished by the crushing reality of a second glance, or catching myself in better light where my cellulite ripples and my belly protrudes.

I don’t know what to do anymore.


Everyone gets lonely, it’s natural, we want to be with people. I feel like it’s a good time to write this because there is a lot of loneliness around me at the moment. My husband is away with work and my sister is going through a bad break-up. So lets address being alone.

My sister is a somewhat of a serial monogamist. She bounces from relationship to relationship and has never had any time by herself. This takes a toll on peoples self esteem, their livelihood. You give all of yourself to another and they become the thing that you wake up for, your only reason for living. My sister is very guilty of doing this. She makes her significant other her entire world, not always a bad thing but you should preserve a section of your world for yourself. Don’t rely on someone else to make you happy, even if you love them. So she has just got out of a relationship where she was head over heels, we all loved him he is a great guy, but he abused her trust. Instead of taking some time to be by herself she has jumped into another relationship, just a week after the breakup. The main issue here is that she doesn’t know who she is. She says she knows, but we all see that she moulds to whatever form her latest partner puts her in. She pretends to like their interests, she wants to please so she does whatever they like. She can’t be alone. She has never found happiness alone. That’s because its hard. When you go from seeing and talking to someone nearly everyday, having someone there through the good and the bad, the loneliness can become too much. But, if you give it time, being alone is actually quite nice. The solitude, the time to think and reflect, time to find out what you really like, your hobbies and interests.

There is a polar opposite of this spectrum. There are the people that revel in loneliness. We love it, embrace it and let it consume us. When you don’t want to be around people because it consumes so much energy. I love being alone, but I can tend to let it take over. I lock myself away and don’t speak to anyone, I don’t see anyone, and I don’t really want to. This is also unhealthy, it takes a real toll on your mental health. You become enshrouded by your own warped thoughts, never seeking the opinions or help of others.

It’s dangerous, loneliness. Too little or too much can see you taking steps towards ruining your life. It’s important, but not easy, to find a balance. See people, surround yourself with them when you need it, but also take time to be by yourself and find out what you enjoy. Take time to listen to your thoughts, but be open and honest with others. Don’t forget to communicate. I am the worst at this, I keep everything it my head and let my thoughts pollute my health until I completely break down. Let yourself be alone, but be wary of the comfort it brings.


This is a rare post for me. For once I’m not got to sit here and vent to you about my day, my life. This isn’t a ‘woe is me’, ‘doom and gloom’ post.

No more than a year and a half ago I was in a terrible place in my life and I was doing terrible things. I would drink to much, and hurt people that were close to me. I had two best friends and one night when I had had too much to drink, I let one of the best friend’s boyfriends stay at mine. I may have been a lot of things, but I was always honest. So I told her, they had gotten back together and I was tarred as the villain, which I deserved. About 4 or 5 months later I did the same to my other best friend. This time I made her boyfriend tell her, I wanted him to be able to spin it in his own way so that maybe she could still forgive him. It didn’t work, she didn’t speak to either of us again and I don’t blame her. There are no excuses for treating someone you care about like this, or anyone for that matter. I wont sit here and try to justify it because I can’t. I hated life, was angry at the world and drank so much I couldn’t think or see, but I made those choices.

So flash forward to now, a year and a half later. I’m married to someone I didn’t even know 10 months ago. And it is by far the best decision I have ever made. I changed a lot of aspects of my life, I quit uni, I cut down on drinking dramatically, I don’t go out and I have about two friends; and they know everything about me (even what I did to my previous best friends). My lifestyle caught up with me. I flirted with the wrong person. Drinking and bad decisions made my mental health so much worse. I could barely leave the house. Yet, one day when a complete stranger added me on facebook and messaged me, I replied. A friend I knew from uni had told him to message me, she thought we’d be a good match, she obviously knew me better than I knew  myself at that point.

It was hard for me to go on dates because leaving the house was a huge thing and I could barely last an hour without having panic attacks. But, when he messaged me asking to meet up I just thought that I should give this one a try. To be honest I didn’t like him at all at first. He had completely opposite views to me. I thought he was ignorant and selfish and I was adamant that his political views made him a bad person. I was clearly the ignorant one at the time. In many other aspects we were similar, I thought too similar. It made us clash, we were both too stubborn and hot headed so we were constantly fighting from the beginning; but we balanced each other out. I had never had someone challenge me, argue back, talk to me and debate with me. Despite the fact that I disliked him so much, something kept on telling me to keep trying and see where it went. I just thought this feeling was because I had dated for so long and desperately wanted it to go somewhere. I realise now that wasn’t it at all, I hadn’t even wanted a relationship at the time, it was something inside me saying that there was something special there.

Things moved unusually quickly between us, I said I love you way too soon but it didn’t seem to matter, he reciprocated it. Distance was hard from the beginning. We’d fight about everything and anything. Once, I got upset because he showered just before going out with his friends in his home town. I guess  I was jealous and paranoid, a feeling that hasn’t gone away. The distance is still a struggle, he has to go away a lot for work and I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere. When someone practically saves you from being a shell of who you were, they become everything to you. With him gone I’m pretty much that little empty shell again, except I still have him so I know it will be okay.

I still can’t put my finger on what exactly is so different about this relationship, what makes me know that he is my soulmate when this is a phenomena I had never believed in before. Maybe it’s that we are always honest, that we except each others past and how we’ve both grown as people together. Maybe it’s because for the first time in my life, someone has listened to how I feel, and instead of belittling me and those feelings, believes and fully supports me. Whatever it is, I know this is something more extraordinary than your average relationship. He makes me feel like everything is okay, even if its only briefly, that life is worth living because I have him to wake up to. I never saw myself having a long life, I never looked to the future or imagined what it would be like as I got older. But I see a future with him, for the first time, I see myself as an old lady, sat next to my husband, probably still playing video games and drinking beer.

My husband is more than my soulmate, he is my saviour, for I don’t know where I would be without him.



It’s time to talk about mental health relapses. It seems rather fitting at the moment, as I seem to be going through quite a bad one.

Often it can seem like no one takes you seriously. As if you’ll just carry on existing and some how manage to carry on. Because, “you’ve always dealt with these things on your own”, or, “you’ve never really liked talking about it”. Yes, you’re right. I don’t like talking about it. It makes me feel weak, as though I’m harbouring under a false pretence. I don’t want to accept these titles. They feel as though they are flung around so easily. Depression, anxiety. I’m just another brick in the wall. Another person posting about how damaged they are for no apparent reason. I don’t feel like I deserve to feel this way. Something bad should have to happen, I have no right to be depressed, or anxious, or panicky, or insanely jealous.

And quite honestly, I feel like I’m losing my mind.

This is my only outlet. My one place to let my true thoughts writhe in their rawest form.  I can assure you, I am not this articulate in real life. Its like something happens between my brain and my mouth and the words just can’t form. I can never say what I want to. And I have no idea why.

Lately I’ve been losing my temper at everything. I’m so isolated all of the time. Recently married and moved into a small army village where I know no one and have no current plans to introduce myself to anyone. My husband is going away this Friday for two weeks. Just the thought of being alone for that long in this place makes me anxious. What will I do. I’m not just waiting a day for him to come back from work, I’m waiting weeks. I have no friends, no family here, and no money to travel to see them. I’m simply stuck, on my own personal island of loneliness. I used to revel in it, loneliness. It was my best friend. Being alone was peaceful and relaxing. But I can’t trust my thoughts anymore.

I’ve also been insanely jealous. For literally no reason. My husband has no interest in anyone other than me and is, in fact, annoyed by any other attention. He hates people as much as I do. But I can’t rid myself of these thoughts and these insecurities that are no ones but my own. I really want to. I don’t want to feel this way. I get to the point where I don’t even want to be with him anymore, because I don’t want to turn even more psychotic, more jealous, make his life any harder. Did I tell you, that he unfollowed everyone that was remotely outwardly sexual, something that I used to be. Just because I was getting so upset by seeing him follow these people. Glancing at his phone screen and seeing them pop up everywhere. Because I am nothing like them. There is literally nothing about me that is special. I am of average height, a ‘healthy’ weight (but with lumps and bumps everywhere), I have big boobs and bum but have the podge on my lower stomach to show for it, a double chin, acne and eczema, a very average looking face. My eyes and hair are the colour of shit. I want to cut every inch of excess body fat off of my body. I’m desperate to lose weight but food is my greatest comfort. My hang-ups. They are the reason he unfollowed these people. My hang-ups are the reason I upset him because I’m suicidal. My hang-ups are the reason I cry at least once a week and think that I’m not good enough because he doesn’t want to fuck me at every chance he gets.  And the worst part is, I’m completely aware that I am the problem, and yet I have no idea how to solve it.

So as you can probably tell, my depression and anxiety have taken back control of my life and they are in full swing. I beg myself to cry sometimes, just to feel it. I want that, I want a range of emotions. I don’t want emptiness. I wonder if you know how it feels.. I know many of you must do and I hope that most of you don’t.

My largest worry right now is money. It’s something I write about a lot. I can’t work in normal environments because of my issues around people. But we’re running out of money. My benefits got taken away once my husband and I got married. I don’t know if we can afford for me to study the dog grooming course.

But I did do one positive thing. I made a doctors appointment. I have a new doctor which means explaining everything all over again. Something I really dread and for some reason gets harder to explain every time. I know I need to speak to someone. Meds are no good for me, but I’m even considering that, just to dull me down, to numb me so I can be a normal member of society. Get a normal job and save for things. Don’t get me wrong I’ve tried them, very briefly, but they make me feel worse, whether its in my mind or not I don’t know. See, I might be fucked up, but I’m very strong-willed. I don’t want to alter my brain and so I don’t want medication.

I feel like I’m at my final hoorah. I have to try something. It’s all or nothing right now. I don’t know what will happen if I can’t pull through this relapse. I’m not really the type for actually committing suicide. But how can I live when my brain is constantly fighting against every thought it has. I have no rationality, no real sense of being anymore.

I know this has kind of been a ramble. I don’t tend to proof read, or draft these things. I just let whatever needs to come out fall onto the screen.

I’ll let you know what happens.