Breaking
February 6, 2010 at 10:12 pm | In CBT, Eating disorders, Going Postal, Sadly Not Fiction, The Study | 11 CommentsTags: anorexia, anxiety, borderline personality disorder if you like, bulimia, depression, Eating disorders, FirstShrink, flashbacks, letters I've written but won't ever send, mental health, mental illness, pinot noir is not the best performance enhancing beverage for writing sensible well thought out posts, posts I will delete, psychiatry, recovery, self harm is coming over the horizon now I am a traitor a traitor a traitor, shall we call it fiction?, shame, stress, trauma I suppose if you are really pushing the definition
Dear Lola,
It’s hard for me to start this letter, mostly because in my mind I am trying to write it to myself, my younger self, my self 3 years ago now. But in my head, my younger Self, you are nothing but an abstract concept, a thing of curiosity. A tender spot to be poked at.
I can’t send this letter back in time to you, even if you existed, that would be an impossibility.
Sometimes I think of you as a damaged younger sister. I want to grab you, Lola. I want to put my arms around you, and hold your shaking, sobbing mess of a frame, until the tension has melted away. Until Our sadness has melted away. But as yet I cannot touch you. You are behind the glass at a museum. You have a brass inscription. “Lola, Once Was, 2007″
This letter is a formal apology. Continue reading Breaking…
Ha Ha Ha Ha
February 5, 2010 at 3:06 pm | In Eating disorders | 19 CommentsIt’s wrong.
The last post.
I just read it back and realised it couldn’t have actually happened like that.
Like when you see a digital watch in a costume drama. Mr Darcy poncing about in a top hat and Swatch. It couldn’t have happened like that. Or could it? I actually, genuinely don’t know.
There, valuable lesson learnt. If you spend the night seeing shadows crossing doorways when you are blatantly home alone, then don’t try and write historic posts about traumatic events. I do not know whether to be shocked, horrified, or laugh. I may laugh. In fact I am laughing. Very loudly and not in the good way.
I have actually no idea who I am anymore.
Connections
February 5, 2010 at 9:46 am | In Jake, Sadly Not Fiction | Comments OffTags: anorexia, bulimia, but then like being shredded inside, depression, Eating disorders, emotional numbing now, future theft, mental health, mental illness, not my memories but in my head none the less, ptsd possibly if you want, shall we call it fiction?, shoot me it'd be kinder, stress, trauma I suppose if you are really pushing the definition
It’s a Golf GTI. No, I don’t happen to know what year it is, the car I mean, the year on the calendar is 1999, but the car is timeless. It’s grey and has four wheels, two doors and an electric sunroof. What? OK, fine. Three doors if you include the boot. If you can call it a boot, it’s more like a graveyard for car stereos and a gigantic subwoofer as the church. A piece of equipment that if connected properly makes the travel experience like returning to the womb. If that is, your Mother’s uterus happened to like soft American house music and have the faint odour of pine.
And
February 1, 2010 at 6:09 pm | In Eating disorders | 28 CommentsText To Jane: Blah Blah, just found out that I am possibly suffering from PTSD. Been signed off work for a month. So sorry I couldn’t come to your party, but I didn’t want to ruin it for you.
Text from Jane: I’m sorry that you’re not having a good time at the moment again. I was disappointed that you didn’t make the effort to come even just to say hi, life does go on and only you can pick yourself up Continue reading And…
Blackout
January 31, 2010 at 8:22 pm | In Eating disorders, Friends, Jake | 21 CommentsTags: anorexia, bulimia, disassociation, Eating disorders, GP, mental health, mental illness, nightmares, PTSD, recovery, stress, trauma I suppose if you are really pushing the definition
Sorry, this is kind of ranty.
When that snowball starts, it grows quickly. Rolling faster and faster downhill, scooping up anything in it’s path, until it becomes a tangle of arms and legs and possessions. I feel like this thing has snowballed now, and is speeding off down the slope. Possibly towards the village at the bottom. I’m waiting for someone to look out of their chalet window, put down their Grappa and warn their neighbours. “Look out! Avalanche!”
Feed Me!
Ego Wall
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