‘I see you’ (award). 

Even tho I’m not all pro awards, when you are recognized, noticed, acknowledged… it can be an ‘I see you’ moment that values your very existence.

This happened when I was nominated after my post in January 2017, ‘I want to vomit’, and I have only just 3 months later realised it was sitting in my drafts unfinished.

Now, there’s a few rules that come with accepting this award, so I’ll just get over with the formalities and list them out below:

Thank the person who nominated you (thank you, you know who you are 🙂 and link to their blog: https://queertasticblog.wordpress.com/

Write a post to show your award (done)

Briefly tell people how you began blogging:

I began blogging as therapy. I had started treatment and had trouble expressing my inner feelings and thoughts verbally, finding it easier to communicate through the written word. It’s more perfect this way. I can delete and reword. There is time to reflect and process. There are less distractions. I can remain anonymous!

Give two pieces of advice to new bloggers:

  1. If you want others to read…tag your posts
  2. Make time to write

Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award (So I can’t do this as I haven’t been reading many for a while, and all the blogs I used to follow have not been blogging recently.)

  1. This blogger is not active under this site anymore, but if you want an amazing read it’s worth going to the beginning and reading her story. Captivating. I hope if you read this, you are finding meaning and living with more peace… and writing!!! https://fifty2letters.wordpress.com/
  2. http://mccalldempsey.com/
  3. My quiet roar: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/26521424
  4. Shawn L. Bird https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/84098

Let the lovelies that you’ve nominated know that they now have this shiny nomination!


A letter to my sister 

When my sister expressed concern over what people would think of her weight, I wrote her a letter. This response is for all my sisters too. 

Your weight does not measure health, nor how much of a caring mother you are, nor how funny you are, nor how you are a great friend and sister, patient wife….. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re one of the most beautiful people I know. You are as beautiful now as when you were fire-trained fit!!! 

We have been trained since birth to think of ourselves as women who must look pleasing to the male sexual gaze. To think that that is where our value lies. And we have done our best to live up to those expectations. We apply makeup liberally, we convince ourselves that we are not pretty without it. We feel confident when we put it on, are slim, and with the ‘right’ clothing and jewelry adorned, we can be sexy. That mindset has been fed to you. Directly sometimes, subliminally at all times, that it results in….becoming yours too. So now we feel pleasure and confident when we fit this mould. We feel wanted, we think we belong. 

The antithesis to this, is learning how to deconstruct these ingrained thinking patterns. Understanding you did well learning what you were taught, but that lesson is not fair. It’s not fair that you feel ashamed of your body and worry about what your teacher would think. Your teacher was wrong because it is not serving your best interests, it only serves the violent and toxic patriarchy. Pull those thoughts away from inside. Watch them float away like clouds in the breeze. Invite your wisdom to become clear because the emotions were clouding it be justified. You are a person. Not an object to be used. You are valuable because of who you are. You have this caring yet funny personality. I laugh the most when I am around you. You stand up for what you think is right for all, not just one. You are brave and opinionated, yet open to learn and grow. You make mistakes, and you own them. You are meant to be human, not a perfect machine. 

So, let those toxic thoughts fly away and replace them with acceptance. You don’t even need to love yourself if you can learn to reserve judgment. I have many rolls on my body right now, it doesn’t make me any less beautiful. It makes it harder to move. I don’t feel so healthy with the junk I’ve been eating. That doesn’t mean I am bad or less acceptable. We are doing the best we can, with what we have got, at this moment in time. 



It’s not a great idea to start drinking alcohol after 12am, but oh how I welcome the disconnect. 

Too many thoughts. Too may fears. Too many people. Too many years. 

My brain feels like it’s wobbling in space. Like it’s not connected to my body. I welcome that sensation. 


So slow, that by the time the thoughts mingle, the first one is gone and it doesn’t matter anymore. Well, for the moment anyway. It doesn’t matter for that moment. 

Splish. Splosh. 

I want to vomit 

I haven’t had that thought in a very long time. 

I’m a recovered bulimic. I’ve never come back here to say that, but I guess it has only been recent times that I claim that with certainty. I am recovered, and I continue to work on recovery as that could change at any moment. 

Like now. 

This one thought has the potential to start a spiral of events that could lead to my downfall. The fact that I have worked on recovery for so many years means that the instant that thought went through my mind, I could see red flags. I stopped in my tracks and gasped, shocked at the words that formed a sentence that once was so familiar and necessary. 

Backtrack. What did we call it? Some sort of analysis. A chain of events that led to this. 

I know why. What once was PLEASE MASTER, now ABC PLEASE can indicate my vulnerability. The fact it is 1:42am and I am awake? The fact that I have had some alcohol? Little exercise? My emotions of frustration are high because I have tried to work today with children around and a puppy in 42 degree Celsius heat? The anxiety has intensified because I have so much to do and it’s getting to crunch time…. and it’s possible to get it all done…. but, kids. 

So here I am. Responding to that thought.  Analyzing why I am thinking this, and what can I do about it? 

I will sleep soon. I will watch one more episode of ‘The Newsroom’ and then sleep. In the morning I will do 15 mins of low intensity yoga. Just 15mins. No more. I will put a load of washing on, and I will arrange childcare for my children for today so I can work and not fall apart. I have been there for them near constantly over these holidays, and any guilt about this would be unjustified. 

‘It’s ok’. ‘Nice catch… good work’

Helpful thoughts. 

Recovery intact. 

Long term management

I’m pleased that I can say I am back to managing. Not optimal but I think I’m almost there.

Work has almost destroyed me this year. It’s inhumane the expectations. No, the expectations would be okay if you were given enough time to do a good job. Not even a great job, but a good job. It’s so hard for a perfectionist to work under these conditions. It kills my soul when the required paperwork and policy takes away all the time to do a good job on your core business. So very sad.

But I focus on the positive. I need to. I have to let humour have space so that our souls will keep alive.

Started a new medication today. Along with an increased dose of my standard. Here’s hoping this is the last addition to optimal wellness.

As always… Working hard to manage emotions.

Slip and not fall

As I sit here in the private clinic, my home for the moment, I have time for reflection. 

Thoughts of what I don’t deserve. That I’ve made such a fuss. Just get over it. Don’t be so drastic. What if they don’t believe me? What if they see BPD and chuck me out? My presentation right now might look too together. 

It’s ok. I’m not back in crisis where I used to be. I’m proactive. I have great insight.

The psychiatrist was warm and understanding. I didn’t have that new doctor awkwardness where you have to go through your whole life story again. He thoughtfully asked the right questions, discreetly understood my history. 

We have a plan. To get back where I was and functioning well. Medication with time. We need time for it to take. Regular outside support, so I can manage my strategies but keep accountable. And while I’m in here, get back to working with the strategies that were working. Back into exercise. Yoga. Meditation. Singing. All the things that I allowed work to gradually consume. 

I slipped, but I have not completely fallen. I have grabbed onto the railings, using the support to be there and keep me sturdy so I can confidently walk without them once more. 

The note (TW suicide) 

I’m losing it. I must be. It was my ‘good’ week and it has ended in tears once again. I think back over today and put it on replay. The early composure, the conscientious perfectionist that thrives on control and outcomes. I felt so ‘above it’ all. Like I’m walking on the highest of clouds, skipping from one to the next. Sorting them all, supporting them all, aligning them just so. Think about everything but how you feel. The thoughts run so fast it’s hard to keep up. So hard in fact that I miss patches. “Did I put my keys here?” I don’t remember finishing that drink, but I must have because it’s empty. Weird. Now why did I walk in this room? 

The frustration builds. I’m so savvy tho that I recognize it and go for a skill to bring that down a little. I can bring it down enough to face the music and continue on my charade. 

I listen to a guest speaker talk about her mental illness and ability to hold a full time job, and shine in her other performance job. I am jealous. I didn’t realize that till right now as I wrote it. 

I’m sad and I’m jealous. 

I want to be authentic and not have to hide my health struggle. I want that support. I wish to be able to have my calming piano music in my ear without worrying about losing my job. 

It’s so stressful trying to hide mental illness. It’s so heartbreaking when you don’t want to hide it but fear, yes fear what happens when you if you don’t. 

At the time I wiped away the tears and reassured my boss I was ok to go and present. I would have been if everyone had been nice and cooperative. It was unexpected that they weren’t, and I had to leave the room. 

I managed to gain recomposure again and go back and deliver the next 55mins. 

The result is exhaustion. And more tears. Tears that fall with defeating thoughts. Tears that seem to fall for unexplained reasons, in the middle of random places. 

Drip, roll, drip roll……



And again. Over and over. 

So now I’m seriously considering going back on my medication. 

Or seriously considering writing a note. 

When I was suicidal in the past, it had never occurred to me to rent a hotel room. My mind goes there now. 

What if, instead of doing work and releasing stress by catching up, I just leave altogether?

I would hate for someone to have to find me. I could perhaps write a note and stick it on the outside of the door at the last lucid moment. 

Please do not come in this room but call emergency services. I have committed suicide and would prefer only paramedics to deal with my body

Or pre-record a message and call when it’s too late? 

I would ruin my children’s lives. Forever. I wouldn’t just be killing myself but my family too. Their lives would never be the same. No, I cannot do this to them. 

So I binge and purge, and this makes me feel better for now. That’s twice in 2 weeks. Another slip. For now, I fall asleep and nap and I feel a little relieved. 

Try not to think of the purge as feeling better…. That behaviour will just get more frequent and before I know it I’ll be relapsing. 

I can’t have that. I can’t deal with that again. 

Keep positive, keep perspective. Keep swimming. 

Just keep. For now. Just keep.