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. 

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. 

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 it’s 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. 

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.