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 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……

Wipe

Sniffle.

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.

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Perfectionism

I was overcoming this, on the mountain top waving the conquer flag… Urgh. Rephrase.

I was overcoming this, waving my flag as I climb the mountain with an occasional stumble.

There, that’s better. Perfec…..

Stop.

Deep breath.

After a solid time in recovery, life is becoming fruitful in the ways I had missing. I am noticing now tho, my perfectionism creeping back in.

I started feeding it in my work. It was fulfilling and at the beginning I didn’t see the harm. This was my project that I could control. My family can’t wreck this. It’s all mine I mistakenly thought.

We have moved house and it’s temporary but I am not happy here. There a few things that are messing with my body and my head. So to manage my frustration and anxiety with how things are, and with my body off limits, I delight in my work.

Perfectionism can be so rewarding until its inevitable wall smash.

I cannot have control over my work. There are too many other people at play. Hundreds of them actually. My children also interfere. By delaying my start time with an hour long hypochondria stint making me late for work. Or perhaps the discipline applied which results in school refusal. The stress has risen to breaking point.

I am doing a fabulous job dealing at acute times, using strategies to bring my anxiety down a little. Time takes its toll and this level of stress is not sustainable.

Making sure I take time to remind myself of the meaningful things in life is imperative. Taking time to express myself and emotions is critical. Writing, singing, advocating. If it gets bottled inside I will implode.

Even though my head is shouting toxic thoughts about myself and jumping on my self esteem I will reach out. I will go and have coffee with a friend. Even when my head is saying I am not likable. That people don’t want me as a friend. That people see me as weak. That I am fat. That I need to lose weight, to cut, to harm myself in some way to justify my existence. Even though I face this I will continue to face my fears and live with them. I will adjust my chameleon suit for another day.

A reminder: You work to live, not live to work.

Off with the meds! 

The struggle is real but I have had a really good week. A week where I feel like I have accomplished meaningful and important things.

I went off my meds just after Xmas. I had tapered down a little but then just dropped off. It’s not too risky on these ones seeing as tho they have a long half life. At first I lost sense of time. After 2 weeks I thought it had been 6 weeks. My sense of balance and proprioception changed. I felt like my eyes had just got a new prescription of glasses and I was walking around not exactly sure where things began and ended. That has gone away. After about 3 weeks I have had a rough time dealing. Irritable, shouting, teary, crying. I’ll give it another 2 weeks…. And this week has been great.

The struggle is still real. My sensitivity feels heightened and my body responds. Whether it is goosebumps or the urge to cry, I have to work hard with the strategies I have learnt in recovery to continue to keep from purging or self harm. I’m still winning.

Here’s hoping that “off with the meds” is not “off with my head”

Shared musings 

I want my feelings to spill on the pavement.
Out of me.
The shame inside is too much.

I need to get rid of this shame but keep from exposing this to anyone else.

The urge to secretly let it spill where no one can see is a convincing thought. Let out the poison.
Yes, dump it; so no one knows, just how deep the ‘you don’t want me’ goes. 

Wanting

Friday night, American honey on the rocks, listening to music, beautiful scenery, so peaceful…. Yet I feel so so alone. Like nobody wants me. 

I’m messaging people. I’m eating pizza. I’m intolerant to dairy and right now I don’t care. 

I feel abandoned. Why do I neeeeeed such a deep connection to particular safe people?

Why do I keep pulling…. I need you to care. 

I feel like such a reject sitting here on my own… Contemplating purging the pizza, thinking how disgusting I am. How no one really wants my company. Like I have to be someone else for acceptance…. And I just want to….. (Not wanting to trigger anyone) but I want to release the pain. 

I want to be stronger, thinner, more brilliant…. really i want to be reassured that I’m ok.

You are such an idiot. Why would they want to talk to you? No one does. They are too busy enjoying their own life without you in it. 

please dont hurt me.

Guilt 

Do you know what it’s like walking through life, picking up the guilty pieces and fitting them over the self hatred to impersonate confident brilliance?  

I am slipping. I can feel it. I am scared. 

The drinking has increased. I’m drinking on my own to numb. To get through. To cope. And the dink of choice is now always preferred on the rocks. Straight spirits. Fck soda and empty calories. The sole purpose is to calm. To separate me. 

My husband has noticed, and indicated his concern…. And then played the PlayStation. But now his concern has been stated, I feel the need to hide it. Or get help. I don’t know. 

I feel guilty because I did a radio interview on recovery a few weeks ago. Inspiring people to remove stigma and get help if needed. Now I feel like a fraud. I badly want to self harm, and I’m dealing with life by drinking. 

Not sure how this night will end. How will this guilt play out? 

Fighting for recovery 

Today I am finding it so difficult to look at my body. I pulled out a photo of when I was smaller. I used to think I still had big shoulders there. Now I look at it and see how tiny I was. Perspective huh?

So I’m fighting. If I feel like I look horrible in my swimmers… I’m going swimming anyway. I’m remembering what I didn’t have in that body. I didn’t have presence. I hardly lived in that body because my lens came from outside. It was like my ‘self’ walked outside the body and dictated everything from that perspective. 

I drink, and the urge to self harm increases. 

Fight. 

Fight for those girls you teach. If you cannot fight this, how are they supposed to? How can they have hope if you cannot beat this? Fight it for them.