With the help of Will's mum we now have a fully painted kitchen, and a decorated living room. We have a gorgeous tree all covered in lights and baubles.

People have really rallied round so that we have all our kitchen appliances, a couch and a TV plus lots of other bits. I'm touched and want to say a big thank you to everyone who's helped us.

On Monday we will do our Christmas shopping and then I'll really feel festive.

Merry Christmas everyone, thank you all for supporting me this year.

We moved in today.

Not entirely moved in, mainly we just cleaned. But still - we have a house!!

WELL it didn't go entirely to plan. We were let down by our prospective landlord just hours before we were due to move in. However, we then went on to call another place and, one way or another, we ended up seeing another house today. It was lovely, and in a much nicer area... so we decided to take it.

We move in tomorrow!

x

I'm in a major stress. Basically, our future rests on tomorrow. If we get a certain amount of money tomorrow then we can move into our new home on the 10th. If we don't get this money, then we don't move. Do you see what might cause me to stress? Will says it'll all be okay though so am trying to focus on this and not on the stress. Trying to steer my mind away from razors and into houses, my lovely mother-in-law to be bought us a pan set and a knife set today for our new kitchen. So keep your fingers crossed that all goes well tomorrow!

Happy 23rd Birthday to my beautiful boy. xxx

Police

I have a paranoia. It doesn't matter how many drugs I take or psychiatrists I see... I'm still paranoid. My big fear? Police. I am terrified of Police. In fact, even PCSO's and those people who wander around cities looking for people to help. Anyone wearing one of those reflective jackets sets my mind into panic. I don't know why I'm afraid. Of course we've had our run-ins with them and I've been in the company of an Officer on more than one occasion... but just now? I don't think I've committed any crimes... there's no reason why the Police might be looking for me. It doesn't stop me panicking though, everytime I see one.

It's exhausting you know. Every siren I hear could be coming for me. Every dipped hat could mean that I'm about to be arrested, or sectioned. I don't know which I'm more afraid of... prison or a mental institution. Is it even that that I'm afraid of? Or is it the Police themselves? I'm not really sure... it could be both. All I know is that I'm tired of being scared, of feeling my heart race each time I go out. I'm starting to get paranoid of being paranoid.

Another thing on my mind is self harm. On the 10th December it'll be 6 years since I started engaging in that little past time, or should I say indulging. That's what it feels like just now, an indulgence that I'm not allowed. Something that you love, but could do you harm. Like chocolate. Wilkinson Sword is my Cadbury...

The Christmas trees went up in our house today, and are being decorated as I speak. Or type, rather. The roast is in the oven and I'm feeling pretty festive.

I've not had much to write of late, so apologies for that. Perhaps that's been because I've been quite content. Yes we are sharing a house with 4 other people, and yes money is tight... but in myself that hasn't seemed to matter. I have a lovely new GP who has put through a referral to the local CMHT for me, and has put my prescriptions on repeat... good huh?

In previous years Christmas for me has been a time of depression and excessive self harming... in fact I started self harming 6 years ago next week. But this year I'm hoping to stay on track and surround myself with family and happiness.

Watch this space...

Tonsillitis

I have tonsillitis. Well, luckily it's on its way out now but the past few days have been more than a little uncomfortable.

Do you ever worry that you've lost the knack? I mean, I have less and less readers nowadays and less and less to say.

Do you think it's time to throw in the towel?

Still in Doncaster folks.

At a loss as to what I should write... suggestions?

We are still living in Doncaster. Crikey it must be a record - 2 weeks in the same place. ;)

All joking aside, we are enjoying it here. Few little hiccups, which can be put down to a big family living in a quite small house!

I got genuinely excited the other day at the prospect of finding a new place, getting a stable job and saving for a mortgage. I know I'm only 20 but I feel like I've done a hell of a lot of living for my years and it feels like the 'right' time to settle down.

I wrote to my Mum today. I didn't put my address but promised to write again soon. I wanted a chance to speak without receiving a biting comment in response. So I talked. Just me. For whatever reason she hasn't ever read one of my e-mails in which I try to explain bipolar - so I explained it again. Gave her some www addresses to take a peek at, if she likes. If not then at least I've tried.

There you go, that's me.

So here it is.

I got depressed. Two weeks ago I started a new med - Paroxetine (Seroxat). It's an anti-depressant. An SSRI.

Since then we have moved to South Yorkshire, and I started feeling a little brighter.

Today was my beautiful niece's 2nd birthday and we had a fab time at her party, then trick-or-treating, then eating Ben and Jerrys.

It's the little things that you have to hold on to.

I seem to be settling into a pattern of not writing titles. I just can't get on with them, they won't pop into my head anymore... similarly my Facebook and Twitter updates are suffering. Do you mind? I guess the point of a title is to give you a little clue as to what I'm going to write about - but you all know by now what I write about so I'm sure you can manage without a title. It wouldn't be funny anyway.

The tablets I am currently on seem to be doing wonders (Olanzapine 10mg & Lamotrigine 75mg) - I was worried with the weight issues surrounding the Olanzapine but it seems to be having an opposite effect on me... my appetite is diminishing by the day and I can't even finish a meal... not that this is a particularly bad thing since I ballooned on the Quetiapine of a few months ago.
Lamotrigine is not licenced to treat bipolar in the UK, but is used as an off-label mood stabiliser - despite being marketed as an anti-convulsant used in the treatment of epilepsy.

I feel a lot more stable and my sleep has evened out too - getting about 8/9 hours a night which is a pretty good level for me as sleep is an integral part of my mood. When I panic it is for a few minutes at most and when I'm depressed it passes relatively quickly too. As for the self-harm... that happens occasionally still but to a much lesser degree than a few years ago.

This has turned into one of those sickening 'I'm fine' posts. I don't want to sound like I'm gloating to others of you suffering... I just think that this blog works best when I'm being honest and open with you all. It's the only hope I have of really helping someone.

I've just noticed that I seem to be acquiring followers... so this is a big welcome to all of you. I hope you find something interesting to read here, and decide to come back some day.

'Things' are still undecided. We may be moving into a winter let with a friend *fingers crossed* and then into a bigger place when money allows. This is the ideal plan of course; I fully intend for life to intervene and mess things up at least a little bit before it all comes through for us.

Not a lot to say, just felt the need/urge to get something out there.

That was it.

Composed sitting outside the Guernsey Information Centre

So yesterday was a bit of a nightmare; lots of panic and things to sort out and worrying to be done.

Today is slightly better... all I have to contend with is the treacle-like substance which feels like it's working it's way down from my brain into the rest of my body. I have the speed of a 90-yr old woman. Is this better than racing thoughts and panic? I just don't know. I appreciate that I can't have everything, I can't ultimately function (brain-wise) as well as a 'normal' person - here I use the word normal in reference to people without a mental illness; but at the same time there's nothing special about me in particular. The meds will help, talking will help, the psych will help... but it's down to me to tie that all together into one mentally-healthy little bundle.

I do sometimes wonder whether I will be classified someday as mentally healthy. Without mental illness. Can that happen? I've been told that meds will be necessary for the rest of my life, I've been told that unless I take them I will end up in and out of institutions. I certainly won't be a nurse. So if I do feel good - on the meds - does that mean I'm no longer suffering with a mental illness? As far as I can see it, the answer is no - because to acheive that level of functionality I have to swallow the pills.

It bothers me often that when I'm down or panicked I seem to say 'you don't understand' to William often. I seem to shut myself into my little bubble where I am completely alone and no-one has ever felt as bad as I. This is ridiculous of course - perhaps each bipolar experience is different, but ultimately we're all going through the same here.

Then there's the question of when you turn from a 'normal' person into one with a mental problem... is it when you attempt suicide? When you're put onto meds? What's to say the doctors can't get it wrong and actually we're all as fucked up as one another, but to varying degrees. I've often asked a doctor if it's possible that I imagined all of this bipolar lark, and made myself suffer from it... he seems to think this highly unlikely. He seemed awfully quick to tell me that I am indeed suffering from a 'severe mental disorder'...

I guess I've just got a lot on my mind at the moment, and I like to capture these rare moments of lucidity so that I might look back one day and think that perhaps it wasn't all that bad - or is it?

Tweaking

So I went to my appointment, all by myself - like the good girl we all know I am.

My meds were indeed adjusted; higher dosages mean bigger smiles - that's what I always say anyway ;)

Things are still pretty good. William is working this evening as there's a concert at the leisure centre. And that's where I am right now, typing away to you all as I can hear the throbbing of the music in the hall beneath me. I would go home only that would mean being by myself - and even I'm not that good.

We are settling well in Guernsey so if there's any more Guerns out there then keep an eye out for me - hell stop me in the street if you like and we debate life or something... I'm the chubby one with long curly brown hair. Usually some sort of pink shoes - be it Converse or Vans!

Hello there

Sorry that it's been a while. We did indeed go to Yorkshire, for all of a week. Before we decided to be defiant and daring and moved back to Guernsey. So far it's paying off - we have a 'room' to call our own, William has a job in security and I'm not feeling to bad either.

I'm still off work, but looking all the same. Still taking the meds - and feeling SO much better for it. I feel like the past - what? - 5 years, have all been a practise for this. I know that I can never predict my moods; nobody can. But I also know that I feel good. William and I have taken up a membership at the leisure centre and this week we have been to the gym, swam, jacuzzied and even played badminton (badly).

My next psych appointment is the 17th September. I guess he will tweak my meds because I am still having a big problem with panic/paranoia and finding it difficult to block out the voices in my head. I can see people talking to me but not really hear what they are saying. However I feel as though I'm in a better position because my thinking is a lot clearer and my moods more stable - hence I can see where I need to improve.

It's a journey my friends, one they call 'life'.

xxx

Through the Wringer

It's been a rough few weeks huh?

I've made up with my Mum, and then rowed again.
I've got my William back, broken up, then got back together again.
I've worked, then been signed off - and now waiting to be fired when my sick leave ends.
I've started and then changed meds.
I've camped under the stars at Abandoned 09
I've been paid, and am now broke.
I've been accepted, and then rejected for my MH Nursing degree.
I've attempted suicide, and then started laughing again.

Right now we are thinking we'll have to go back to Yorkshire. Possibly tomorrow.

*For those interested my current meds are:

Zyprexa (Olanzapine) 5mg - Atypical AntiPsychotic
Lamictal (Lamotrigine) 25mg - Mood Stabiliser - rising to 50mg on Friday
Diazepam occasionally when needed - Tranquilizer

Sorry

Everyone... I have deserted you. As sanity has deserted me.

I never understood people saying their lives got in the way of their blogs... I've always written.

But now I can't.

Life

I'm still doing it, still living.

I spend my days in a stationary shop, working simply as a sales assistant.

I spend my evenings with my Mum and my sisters.

I spend every moment missing my William.

Having trouble getting cleared for September by Occupational Health. Please keep your fingers crossed for me.

Give me a chance to hold on

No, I don't want to talk about it. Any of it. For some time now I shall block out the events surrounding my 20th Birthday.

At the moment I am staying with my Mum. Getting back on the meds. Starting work on Monday.

Pain drifts in and out of our lives. Crushing moments and devastating pain keep us on our toes. Some of us thrive, some of us take a very definite dive. This time - again - I took a dive. I hope that some day these dives will be my education in keeping my head above water when I eventually crash into the suffocating depths, because it's going to keep happening - again and again.

The glowing tan of a seasoned and salted sailor is back with me. The call of the waves and the rustle of a spinnaker are humming to me gently. They want me back, they want to fix me to the bow of a Beneteau... to air out all of my pain, to bruise my legs. The foredeck of a large yacht is where I should be, with my beau sitting at the back. Feeling the wind, feeling the blackness trail behind us as we set off until finally it detatches and we are free again - to dance and sing in the skirt of a wave.

Each morning I go to the top of my Clos and I send a kiss to William, a smile to the glistening waves and the faint glimmer of hope that one day once more the sea will envelop me.

Secrets

Last week I tried to end my life again, because I thought it would get William a place to live for a while.

***

Sorry for not being around, I love you as always.

'ello

Sorry all, I am here... but in the background.

Thank you for lovely birthday messages.

Will let you know more, when I know myself!

x

You're so fragile tonight
Been up hurting all night
It's not trivial like they think
Yes you're desperate and you're hurt.

Thought about it so many times
Too afraid to open your eyes
To see the sadness that's inside
Just sit back and stop time.

You're tender and you're tired
You can't be bothered to decide
Whether to live or die
Or just forget about your life.

'You're Tender and You're Tired' - Manic Street Preachers

I posted those lyrics because I can't get my soul to speak to anyone at the moment.

Things are changing, rapidly - too rapidly for me to handle. As much as I like to deny it change unsettles me and it takes me a while to ease into things. If I am not afforded time with a change then I quickly become distressed. I can tell when this is going to happen but can't often stop it.

As you know I am currently without professional human support right now - it's just me, William and a hefty dose of quetiapine twice daily. Unfortunately with the recent changes and those yet to come I have become - unwell? I'm not sure that's the right word but I can't find an alternative.

I'm not speaking to William, I'm retreating into myself offering only "I don't know what to say" as an explanation. I swing from crying and depressed to hyperactive and restless at an alarming rate, and then back again. I know all is not well but I don't know what to do about it.

William too is finding it difficult with me not able to convey my trust through him to other people, who it feels are in control of our situation. It distresses him that he has to make decisions for both of us - but I in turn am distressed when it is highlighted that I am not helping matters at all.

In short, these are turbulent times. But I've been through it all before, right?

Cold, sharp security blanket. (For Kat)

I've told you my story, in dribs and drabs - here and there. A post on a bad Christmas, a few comments about my parents. But I've never done my story with regards to self harm, never taken you through my life as a cutter.

When I was 10 I stuck my finger in an automatic pencil sharpener, you know the ones - teachers have them on their desks. The day before this my Dad had taken me to Girl's Brigade in his huge red Volvo estate... he gave me 20p for sweets and just before I got out of the car he called "Pull that dress down, you look like a slut" Then he gave me one of 'his' winks and drove out of the car park.

I may have only been 10 but I knew what a slut was, and I knew I didn't want to be one. So at school the next day I put my finger in the sharpener. I can't remember what I felt, or what I thought it would acheive... I was just angry at myself.

It was a good few years more before I turned to pain to escape again.

Saturday 11th December 2004. I was fifteen years old. In the morning I had gone to my band practise and on the way home I stopped in on Dad (in the pub), when I got there he was mid-flow in a story about how he had screwed his girlfriend the night before. All his friends urged him to shut up - they were nice to me - they said I shouldn't hear things like this. But he said "Relax, no-one's ever gonna fuck her anyway". I smiled graciously and took a seat in the corner - I never had a bad word to say about Dad, I was his princess. (But that's another story)

I walked home from the pub to help my Mum and my two younger sisters put up our Christmas tree, it was the same one we used every year; a 4ft artifical one - Woolie's finest, plonked on top of a mahogany corner table to make it 6ft. I always put the tinsel on because no-one else could reach far enough up the tree.

In the evening we watched some TV, my Mum and sisters went to bed early so it was just me sitting in the lounge next to a multi-coloured lit Christmas tree. I was hit by these unbelieveable wave of sadness. I didn't want to go to bed because I didn't want to wake up in the morning. I cursed myself for feeling like this, for doubting the healthiness of Dad's and my relationship. I found a safety pin and I started to scratch. Side to side, faster and faster across my left wrist. I liked how it burned, I liked how the blood was coming out - I had done it all by myself, for myself.

This carried on for a fair few months, I would sit in my top bunk listening to Manic Street Preachers with my little safety pin. Always in the same place, always with the same pin. It used to hurt a lot when my wrists rubbed on my grey wool school jumper - but I liked that, a little reminder of the pain when I was away from my pin.

We soon moved into a bigger house and I had my own bedroom... this is when I switched to packs of ten razor blades. I fell in love. The harm was quick and afterwards I could watch the blood seep through the fat and spill onto my skin. Pretty soon I ran out of room on my wrist, so I let loose... I cut anywhere and everywhere on both arms, I took my blades to school in my purse and used the school toilets to get some release. I branched out into buying first aid supplies... menolin patches, micropore tape and steri strips - I rarely went to get stitches but when I did I was in and out of A&E like a rocket. Dealing with the consequences during my weekly trips to a CAMHS psychiatrist.

When I moved to Uni I continued to hurt myself but less often than before. I had William with me so I couldn't always find blades... I used whatever was next readily available to me, from sandwich ties (with the wire in the middle) to tweezers. Anything to ease off the pressure for a while, give me chance to breathe and get some control - punish myself for whatever affliction is assaulting my self confidence.

I don't know how to end this story, because it hasn't reached its end yet. I haven't touched on ODs, scars or therapy, I haven't told you about my life since 2004... this story is simply the beginning (I fear) of my journey with 'Deliberate Self Harm' - I continue to wrap myself in that cold, sharp security blanket... albeit less often than I once did.

Doctor-Patient

Hi you lot. Not doing brilliantly. Be gentle with me.

Went to register with GP today. I really just wanted a new script - but he insisted on a BP check, weighing and an informal 'chat'.

Am pretty cross with myself because I basically told him that I was doing fantastic, I practically told him I was in remission - and he bought it, wrote it in the notes - congratulated me.
I told him I'd had excellent treatment in the UK (not true) and that I had no feelings of hurting myself. He gave me two months Seroquel (168 tablets) - then he checked I had no plans to OD. I told him 'Not for a long time!'... this is true enough, it has been a long time since I've thought of it. But lately it's been creeping into my mind again. I'm trying to push it right back out - there's enough crap going on in there as it is.

I mentioned my abnormal liver function and he suggested a few things it could be - possibly Gilbert's Syndrome - which is fine as that's practically harmless. He's going to do some more blood tests next month as he says it still could be the Seroquel or even still the effects from the OD I took all those years ago. Hope it's not the Seroquel as don't want to stop it.

Anyway. So I lied about how I felt to the Doctor.

Let's see if I can pull myself through this one with no further damage.

A World of Pain

Just wanted to do a quick post on a documentary I watched last night with William. It was about Self Harm and was presented by an actress and writer called Meera Syal.

I thought it was pretty good.

Have put the link at the end of the page - but unfortunately if you're not in the UK I don't think it'll play for you. There is however a link to the programme information, if you're interested in what it was all about.

Trying to raise some more awareness.

If anyone out there is struggling with self harm, please contact me and I would love to try to help you.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00l17tq/A_World_of_Pain_Meera_Syal_on_SelfHarm/

Bear with me

Please.

Not entirely sure that I'm entirely well. Right now. But I can't seem to tell anyone.

Tweezers? I mean, fucking tweezer? THAT's what I picked... Knife wasn't sharp enough. Chemist too far away.

So Nikita, in her infinite wisdom, decides to carve out bits of her ankle with a pair of black Primark tweezers.

This is really living, my friends.

Pourquoi?

Secretly one of the reasons I want to go into Mental Health Nursing is because I want to learn to understand self harm. Not for myself, just because it has always astounded me - it did before I even started to do it myself.

Currently nursing 10 new wounds. It's painful in a way it never was before.

I need to understand.

SH

It wraps you up
In pain you love,
It draws you in
It makes you need
You think you are -
In control.
You use it
Daily
Weekly
Whenever you feel wrong
It makes you feel
Just right.
Pain as a reward
As a punishment
As a life-saver
As a lesson
You thought
That you had learnt.
Years
Or months later
You've moved on
Found other ways
Grown up.
But no,
Sweet fool
There will be a day
When it comes knocking
You do it again
And again
Just like before.

So you think you know me?

Have you ever attempted to write an autobiography? I have, I was 15 years old and it was my GCSE English Language teacher who convinced us all to give it a try. I personally found it ridiculous... how could I summarise 15 years, at the age of 15? Who was going to read these supposed masterpieces?
But, of course, I wrote it all anyway... 12 A4 lined pages, front and back. It received a good review from my teacher so I put it in my coursework folder, lost the coursework folder.. and never thought anymore about it.

I suppose that these blogs that we keep are rather like an ongoing autobiographical piece... we share the goings on of our lives, the poems that we write and the songs that we sing to. If I were to print out every single page of my blog it would make a far better read than that Year 10 assignment could ever have hoped to.

For one reason or another I decided to write this post today, exposing a few things that I like to say about myself... and how truthful they actually are. So here goes.

I reached about Grade 5 in clarinet and keyboard... but faced with either of those instruments I don't honestly believe I'd know which finger to put where.

I can happily jabber away to myself in French and Spanish - and read novels in said languages, and sometimes I can understand a German person - but if you plonked me in front of one of said language speakers... my mouth would dry and my brain would forget every verb I ever learnt.

I referred to myself as bipolar long before I ever got a definitive diagnosis. I was fed up of Doctors telling me it 'might' be bipolar or that bipolar 'could develop' that I just started to research it myself.

However, when I got my diagnosis and had it confirmed... it was one of the scariest days of my life.

When I go to mental health units I always secretly think I'm better than the other patients... more educated... more domesticated... cleaner. Even though I've been known to avoid a bath for over a week when I'm in a bad way.

When I saw the 'Friends' episode where Monica gets out her Wedding Book - full of plans for her future wedding - I got inspired. I made a book full of ideas and details surrounding my plans for suicide.

I still don't understand why I came to harm myself, and I don't think I ever will.

That's about all I can think of for now, thanks for letting me get those off my chest.

The Crazy One

On a blogging roll at the moment, don't know if that's a good sign or a bad one. Sometimes I just can't speculate, but sometimes I know that something bad is going to happen.

This morning (01:23am) to be precise, I am in a bit of a torment.

I don't know how to write it down, that's frustrating because I can't get out what I want to.

I didn't take my meds yesterday. That's why I'm awake. If I'd taken them I'd be passed out in bed until mid morning, no doubt.

This is one of my points, those ones I'm trying to make. Badly. The meds keep me level. They keep me what could be called 'sane'.

But they keep me down. They make it hard to talk, hard to see, hard to move... hard to be. I suppose it's really being level, but to a person with bipolar being level is difficult.

Without the meds I have plans... I want to tidy. I want to write love notes to William. I want to stand on the balcony and listen to the waves. I've been awake only 14 hours... that's double what I'd normally manage.

And babies. This medicine could affect a baby developing. But I really want babies.

You're going to read this and think it's a bit eratic. If you've read up, you'll warn me that I'm becoming manic.

I'm not. I'm just the crazy one.

I feel like crap

Not entirely sure why.

Could be because of intense sunburn.

Could be lack of nourishment at this late hour.

Could be both.

Time was I'd be thrilled to only have those two things bothering me, but now I'm wondering... how am I? Really?

I sleep in until 11. I don't want to, but I just can't get up before then unless I don't take my meds... does that mean I should sacrifice my meds? Well no - because then sleeping in is the least of my problems! If I stop meds then who knows what'll happen... mania, sleeplessness, depression.

I still cry when people are nasty. When people call me ugly, or a freak. Yes I know they were just teenagers and I know they don't matter to me in the grand scheme of things. But the point is... I'm still vulnerable.

Quetiapine fumarate does not place you in a big fluffy bubble. It dulls things but it doesn't make them go away - show me a pill that does that and I'll show you the end of humanity.

My point? I don't entirely have one, to be honest. It's not all bad. Gorgeous place to live, gorgeous partner, gorgeous biscuits I'm about to eat.

And this pain from sunburn? I do not like pain, unless I did it myself. It feels so very wrong after years of me maintaining that 'I hurt myself, so no-one else can'

I'll get over it.

x

Myself

So here's the thing.

Even though I'd not call myself a 'recovered' self-harmer it has certainly been a month or two since I last partook in such an activity. For little over a year now I have been baring my arms whenever I felt warm enough, except in times of acute distress or in the prescence of yet another new wound.

In the UK I feel fine doing this, I wander around absently not really noticing myself. But every now and then I will get a comment. Perhaps from the well-to-do businessman who sees me as an inconvenience, perhaps from a deeply principled mother who sees me as a warning to her children, perhaps even from an elderly couple... who think it's just a sign of the times.
For the most part I deflect back at them... tell them that I had an accident, or got my arms stuck in a shredder - yes really, people buy that. But normally I just tell them that I went through a 'rough patch' - I neglect to mention the length of said patch.

In Guernsey I will happily wander around the beaches and cliff paths in a similar manner to my one in the UK... and people do not often ask questions. If I'm unlucky then I'll bump into an old teacher or friend of the family, who are duly horrified.
When I am with my mother or sisters - or any member of family - my arms are under wraps. I wear long sleeves morning, noon and night. I dress in the locked bathroom, I do not comment when others are hot and remove their outer clothes. I keep that part of me, secret.

They've seen them of course, on trips to visit me in a hospital or psych office. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let that happen ever again.

But here, in Alderney... I know no-one. The sea and the sand and the sun have no harsh words for me, no backwards glances. The people here are relaxed, and the holidaymakers too enthralled by the island to notice me. The rest of the people are sailors... and as a sailor myself I know that it's perfectly normal to be covered in bumps and bruises and war wounds - my legs are testimony to many a hostile overtaking at Cowes Week.

My point is, I feel free. I feel I can be myself. I always wear a bracelet on my left wrist - because that scar is too obvious an indicator of my intentions one night. Here though, I consider taking it off.

I don't want a big tan line, after all.

Beauty

Will is the only manager on shift for a little while so we are still staying in the hotel... today he woke me up to move to a new room. Wow. Room 28 is spectacular.

As I type I am sitting with a drink and a laptop, on a balcony over looking a white-sand beach and an azul sea, under a bronzing sun.

I can hear the waves... sometimes powerful and sometimes lapping. I can hear visitors eating in the restaurant below and tiny little Daihatsu vans driving around - I'm sure they're the national car of Alderney or something.

Later we will go to The Divers for a drink and then make the long*ish* walk up into town. We'll eat at Nellie Gray's and spend the evening learning more about each other. When we finish we'll walk back in the dark and clamber into a huge white bed.

Alderney is medicine for my soul, and for bipolar. Here I take my tablets in an instant and spend my time thinking about the beauty that I can see. Not the pain.

A week ago? This Nikita would've made me vomit, or very sad... today I don't care.

Half Way There

Hey folks

It's been a bloody long day... got the flat all secured and left little notes everywhere for aunt-in-law when she comes for the animals. Hope she didn't leave it too long as Mittens was making murderous glances at Stan when I left.

Got a lift to Liverpool John Lennon from Will's nan and passed pretty quickly through there... save for a little fainting episode, but we won't go into that.

Got to Jersey on time and proceeded to spend 5 hours in Starbucks reading and subsequently listening to MP3... someone told me they didn't have Wi-Fi and I nearly imploded right there and then.

Now I'm airside and - whadda you know - on the Internet. Lying bastards, the lot of them. Have about an hour wait before I get tentatively onto a tiny yellow pencil plane to Guernsey. Can proceed right through security there and into the lounge to wait for another fated yellow pencil flight to Alderney.

Long way to get 500 or so miles innit?

x

Alderney/Aurigny/Auregnais/Aoeur'gny

First thing Monday morning I set off on my summer of working on another little Channel Island... an island with an area of 3sq miles and 2400 people. Well. 2402 with Will and I, anyway.

I'm excited, been hearing of great weather and beautiful views - I think it'll be the perfect preparation for September, a relaxed way of life and *fingers crossed* a relaxed job... making some much needed money for our Guernsey flat fund. It'll be a lot easier being that much closer to Guernsey - in terms of property hunting and stuff.

Animals are going to have to go to my aunt-in-law. We have not got on with her for some time but she will look after them all and I am *sure* that we can put our differences aside... for the sake of Baby, Mittens and Stan.

Much love. *bisous*

A little rant

Just surfing Facebook, and feeling rather resentful.

All of these girls with their parent-approved boyfriends, with their perfect academic records, with their fun University experiences.

Why couldn't I be one of them? How do I compete with that?

I'm going where?

I'm not sure what I'm doing... moving back to the one place I swore I'd never venture again?

Sure, I thought it was beautiful and the course is perfect and it's all going to be lovely... but how did it happen? What happened in my head to make me turn on my heel and head straight back to the place which nearly suffocated me to death?

I'm a bit upset at the moment as Will has moved to Alderney so I'm all alone... we fear that the RSPCA may have to have the animals as I can't take them with me and can't leave them here. I am awaiting an answer as to whether they can help. I feel mega guilty though.

Also upsetting at the moment are the nasty messages my sisters friends have been sending to us. She has decided that I abandoned everyone two years ago... even though for up to a year after I left she maintained that all was fine and we saw each other etc etc. It bothers me that she wants to be taken seriously/seen as mature... and then pulls a stunt like this.

I can't contact her as her e-mail has changed, she won't talk on the phone and has blocked me from Facebook. My letters go unanswered. I'm not going to 'tell' Mum but I'm not going to stand for this either.

This post is personal so I'd appreciate a lull in the nasty comments I've been getting. Not from any of the friends I have out there... just a few anonymous individuals. This blog is not shutting down, I'm not leaving... so I suggest you do instead.

It wouldn't be life without hurdles...

The plan is still on - but problems with ID and fully booked connecting flights mean it hasn't been easy... perhaps it won't even come to fruition, but we're still trying.

Well William is trying anyway - I am trying to be supportive, but obviously failing. I retreat into my world of stress-busters and self-deprecating humour, hoping that if I hold tight it will all be sorted without me. Who knows what I'll be like on my own for a few weeks... I plan to find somewhere to volunteer, to pass the time - and plan to go for a walk with Baby everyday, just to get out of the house. This will be a bonus for the diet... which as of yesterday was ruined by Mr Ben and Mr Jerry - those guys seriously owe me.

I'm sort of looking forward to packing all our things up - the unpacking I won't comment on though... also my plan is to get the train from Wigan-Poole and then the ferry from Poole-Guernsey. A journey which will not only cost under 50 pounds (we reset the computer and the pound sterling sign has vanished!)... but will also be brilliant! I much prefer savouring the journey so a Virgin train, a brief spell in London and a Condor ferry beats a short, stuffy Aurigny flight anyday. Plenty of time to... take my time!

Gorgeous day today, time to enjoy it.

PS... my stress busters?

1. Count your breaths... breathe slowly and count them to ten or something. Block out all other sounds!
2. Wordsearches... my book of 500 wordsearches has got me out of many a meltdown so far!
3. Read... ignore everything and get stuck in. But not to 'The Principessa' - Christine Dickason... that one is killing me.
4. Make tea... a gorgeous cup of tea, however you like it is definitely the way to go.
5. Do something! Wash up, sweep, do the laundry... anything to escape your current predicament.
6. Go for a walk/ play with the dog - or cat. But don't try to walk the cat. They do not like that.
7. Ice Cream.

xxx

Selfish!

Big congratulations to my William... he has been offered a job in Alderney. It's our first step on the long journey back to Guernsey! I have sent a CV to every recruitment place out there... now it's my time for a new job!
We're still not sure what we're going to do. Ideally he'd move to Alderney and me to my Mum's in Guernsey - then we work like mad for a few months, scrape together rent and deposit and re-convene in Guernsey at the end of August. However, we have a cat and dog in tow... perhaps we can find temporary homes for them? It's our biggest dilemma at the moment.

The title of this post... is really an apology. I waffle on about everything to do with me and don't do much commenting on your fine blogs - I'm sorry! As ever I promise I'm out there and reading, and sending all my love to you.

x

Conflicting

I'm not sure exactly how my current mood is conflicting, it just felt like the right word to put there.

Currently am waiting with baited breath on the lady from nurses accomodation... really we need her to agree to help. Will rang her and laid it on thick... lack of nurses, local girl coming home etc etc. She told me to e-mail her by Friday - before she went away, which I did. She hasn't replied though and have a horrible feeling she just said that to be rid of us. Hope I'm wrong, perhaps she's just busy.

I know what we have to do otherwise, one of us will need to move over and work/search for a place to live. If only it were simple.

Think the confliction comes from the fact that I know how I'd normally be reacting to all this.

But then normal's all a bunch of shit, to this 'bipolar student mental health nurse sailor'... anyway.

Success

I did it.

I got accepted to do my DipHE/BSc Mental Health Nursing, back home in Guernsey. The course starts on the 7th September.

It's tough... I'm telling you! It's not often I can call myself successful, in fact I've been on a downer ever since my GCSE's. So getting this is sort of a kick up the arse... a bit of a reality check.

I'm not a complete fuck-up.

Don't tell anyone though.

Dawning

It just dawned on me watching Hollyoaks.

Maybe when I got out of hospital and Mum learnt of my struggles and self harm, maybe she was scared. Maybe she couldn't understand how I could do it to myself.

I don't really know of course.... but lately I am learning that things aren't always what they seem. I have no idea what my Mum thought/thinks but perhaps it wasn't how I envisaged.

I think that's what 'mental illness' is... pain. We dress it up and tone it down. But at the end of the day, it's painful and it causes pain.

Everyday pain surfaces... maybe that's not mental illness, just life.

'Limbo'

If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you will have noticed my latest complaint.

I am stuck in limbo. I don't mean purgatory, but it sure as hell feels like it. I know that I want to move back to Guernsey into nurses training... but right now all I can do, is nothing. I have to stay here in this place, waiting to hear whether I am accepted or whether my fate involves the all together hotter option of another failed opportunity.

Today is a gorgeous day, but like yesterday it lacks a purpose. Everything that we do feels like nothing has been done. It is silent and still, the way it gets when a city warms up. And like the cat lazing on the wall I feel that all I can do, is sit and read.

On the bipolar side, things are much better. I still am avoiding the CMHT because I don't need them right now, they are stretched as it is and I'd much rather they helped some poor soul who is stuck in that aching void. You know the one. When you are crying so hard that everything stops again, the pain and the darkness just crushes down on your chest so that.... you just can't explain why your eyes are red, the bags underneath them weigh heavy like suitcases and your answers read like questions in a philosophy book.

Guernsey, CI

Hello there. What a mindless way to start a post, sorry! Oh gosh now I've apologised again.

Well. I've just got back from Guernsey after going over for my interview in mental health nursing. I think it went well. I came away not thinking I could do anything more - so that has to be good, I hope!

That's not what I want to talk about though, I want to talk about the strange feeling I had in my stomach throughout the whole trip. The feeling I couldn't explain. The feeling that nearly made me cry on the Aurigny flight home. THAT feeling.

Two years ago I was in a bad place, my head was in a terrible state and so were my arms. I met Will and fell in love, in my head it seemed the time to run. So I did. No explanations to my family, no goodbyes... just a little black Fiesta filled with as much of my life as I could manage to get a hold on. For as many years as I could remember I had wanted to get away... to get started with 'life'.

Things were not meant to be that easy though, and as usually happens when one runs away - everything catches up with you. I dropped out of Uni without even noticing I'd been there, to be honest I went off the rails - big time. It's only now I have the joy of hindsight that I can see this.

Eventually though, good old life sent me back to Guernsey... back in search of something, some kind of salvation which I believe I can get in mental health care. I've been there... and perhaps I don't have job experience but I definitely know how I don't like to be treated. I know what needs to be done in mental health care.

So as we drove to my Mother's house I thought about this feeling. I looked out at that gorgeous ocean this afternoon and I saw it. I felt it. I can't understand or explain it, but I know what I was thinking.

'I'm home'.

Eating

I once heard it said... "Show me a woman who has a healthy attitude to food, and I'll show you a man."

Now, aside from this being entirely sexist (I know both the male and female population struggle with eating and disorders), it did make me think and take a step back for a moment.

I have never had a healthy food attitutde. I have always been a little bit overweight - and have always been painfully aware of this.

When I was young I ate too much, because it was how my mother nurtured me - and when I was full I still never said no. Which meant that as I got older I lost control of being able to tell when I was full and didn't need anymore food. My days began to revolve around food and what meal I might have or snack I might sneak when away from prying eyes. Getting my driving licence meant I had unlimited access to whatever food I liked, or was permitted by my receptionists wages.

Despite this, in my teens I did even out a bit and when I look back now - I realise that I was a perfectly healthy size. If only I listened to my friends back then, and took the time to actually look at the photos!

My mother never told me anything other than I was overweight, and needed to lose. Hence at home I was always on some diet or another. It's not until recently that she told me she thinks I am really beautiful and thought I looked perfectly proportioned when I was in 6th form.

I wish I'd known that then!

Now, of course, I am overweight - and I know that. I am trying to diet but when I diet I have a tendency to not eat altogether, or purge when I feel I've eaten too much. My attitude to food is skewed and I don't know how to get it back.

It sounds like I'm blaming my Mum/upbringing... but I'm not. I'm just interested in childhood eating habits and how they shape the people we become. I know that the medication I am on will affect me too... and so I ask, what is the right attitutde to food? And how do we get it?!

Honesty

I'd like to thank Patricia at 'In Case You Were Wondering' for this award. I am honestly so thrilled - I've never gotten one of these before! We've not known each other for a great amount of time but I value very highly her comments on my posts - and her patience at my lack of comments back!

So here's the drill: I have to list 10 totally honest things about me, and then pass this award onto 7 other blogs that I think are brilliant and well worth a visit. Hope you enjoy it!

1. Sometimes I test people. I ask them questions to which I already know the answer - just to make sure they're concentrating. It might sound like a rotten thing to do but they mainly know what I'm doing and (I hope) I've never offended someone with this little 'game'.

2. I've only just started enjoying having a dog. We got Baby last August and since then it's been a long time filled with her mess and worst of all, her bark. A few days ago we decided to walk her further - everyday. And these past few days have been fabulous! She sleeps all the time on her new bed!

3. I will often try to convince myself that I don't want something, when really I want it more than anything. If there's something I want or something I want to do - you can be sure I'll convince myself it's stupid, and not worth doing.

4. I've never really thought of myself as a good person. I know that I'm not bad - but that doesn't automatically make me good, does it?

5. I am embarassed to have bipolar. If I am asked on a form or in person to declare any health issues I will avoid it for as long as possible. I will list anything else I can think of - relevant or not - and try to see if I can neglect to explain bipolar affective disorder. My personality disorder? No-one gets told about that!

6. I wish I'd seen my Aunty Helen one last time before she died. Her throat cancer was left far too long before she sought help, and once she found out her plight she turned everyone away. No-one was allowed to visit her, and I wish she hadn't felt that way. I need to visit Uncle Roy more often, but I'm ashamed that only he saw her last days - that he had to cope alone.

7. It's been almost a year since I last had a haircut. I am petrified of them. I can't stand sitting in that chair faced with a huge mirror. Hence my split-ends are fed with moisturising shampoo for as long as I can avoid a visit. (One is planned when I'm in Guernsey)

8. Some of my best friends are people that I have never met, and may never meet.

9. I can cook. I just tell myself that I can't. I let Will cook, only helping when he asks - and even then I get scared I'll do something wrong.

10. I've always wanted a library. With all the books I buy (5 for £2) we're well on the way - unfortunately our one bed flat doesn't have room!

So there you have it.

Here are my chosen blogs...

Rainbow Dreams (Katie) has become a firm friend and our friendship has extended beyond this blog and onto Facebook and even phone. She is full of beautiful thoughts and feelings - she doesn't claim to always be right, but she's often closer than she thinks.

Misty La Vrangue is a girl I know from when we were very little in Primary school. We lost touch in year 6 and recently found each other again through our bipolar diagnosis. She is finding her way one day at a time, it's a hard journey but her blog never fails to make me smile.

Broken Mannequin (Charli) has become a friend also - we've not known each other a long while and I know I am not alone in being an admirer of her blog and indeed her words. She is a fantastically raw poet and it's because of her that I venture to call myself a writer. Sometimes ;)

Faith In The Margins (Jules) is a lady who taught me that I don't have to decide my religion, I can admire aspects of christianity - but we both know that attending church doesn't necessarily make you a christian. Her journey with God is beautiful reading and I wish her every bit of love in her ongoing quest.

Karyne's Kronicles (Karyne) is a lady who I don't even claim to know very well - but I enjoy her blog a great deal and value her comments here. I'd love to get to know her better and hence I am loving her blog!

Awareness (Dana) - this blog is fantastic also. I never fail to learn something and as such I have no doubts about giving her this award - keep on keepin' on Dana!

Paul Chambers is one of the first bloggers I began to follow. Writing from my homeland, Guernsey, he never fails to make me think and I just love the beautiful photography that match his entrancing words.

Thanks Patricia!

Don't like it

Still I have not got back to commenting on your blogs... I am sorry. I read them, honest I do. But none of my words seem to fit, they wiggle around until they make no sense and all I can do is send out thoughts into cyberspace and pray that they reach you well.

I realised last night that I have slipped into the persona of someone I just don't like. I've always been a bit on edge with myself, and never exactly practised much self-worth. But last night I felt I had fallen into a game-player. A selfish girl who wants nothing more than to stay with her partner forever, but who feels the need to test him. To push him to his limits, just to make sure he knows what he's in for.

I met a new mental health worker yesterday, his name is Alex. I liked him very much, but for some reason he made me feel I should talk correctly and hence I told him little of how I am feeling. I did complain about the great Dr D though and he promises to shed some light on her seemingly child-like therapy.

You don't all know yet... but I was offered an interview back home for the MH nursing course I want to do. It's on the 15th April. I can't really say much because all it seems to be bringing is stress.

*sigh*

So there you go.

Why

A little poem, folks.

Why didn't you care
About me
Or her
Or her...
Us?
Your eyes didn't register
Success
Struggle
Love Pain
Your family.
You walked away
Over
And over again
We welcomed you back
Each time
Until
We gave up.
I may not be perfect
Perhaps I'm bound
For hell.
But I know
For sure
I'll see you there.
Meet you there.

Hi

I felt I should update this, though without any particular reason or point to make I accept that this is a plan with a flaw.

Either way I wanted to let you all know that I'm thinking about you and hoping you are all okay.

I promise to get a better grip on life (one day) and visit and comment on all of your blogs.

Until then... hang in there.

x

It's an odd feeling

Today, it seems apparent that there is a lot of anger in the world.

But when this anger is directed against oneself... when you wish pain upon your very self and find every decision revolving around a sick 'live or die' game you play in your own head...

It sends a chill, it sparks a tear.

Then you get a hold of yourself, despise your own selfishness.

And get on with it.

How I'm Feeling

I STILL have new poems to post, but today this poem by John Masefield sums up the thoughts in my head...

...enjoy.

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

Thank You

Will get back to creativity soon, well as soon as I can.

First I want to say a few 'thank-yous'... they won't be read by the people concerning them probably but they need to go out into the void.

To the Doctor in the purple scrubs at Southport Infirmary... thank you for being kind and for getting me that referral so soon.

To the triage nurse... thanks for not making me roll up my sleeves for my obs.

To the on-call psych in the Bickerstaffe Ward... thanks for understanding, and not making me talk... for being thorough and increasing my meds.

To the man who showed me the way from the ward to the pharmacy... thanks for talking about nothing to do with mental health.

To Will... there aren't enough words to express how much I love you, and how thankful I am.

To my warrior K... thank you for sticking with me and messaging me.

To all of you bloggers... thank you for your kind messages.

Speak soon. x

I can't talk
About
What's been
Happening
What's been
Going on.
I won't mention
The Ward
The Psych
The Place.
I shan't utter
The thoughts
The images
The pain.
For you
And for me
Or not.
No looking back
No reminiscing.
Just
More pills
More changes.
Just
Another chance...

Hello all.

Stand Still

Taking a little time to stand still, to feel ill... to cry.

Thank you so much for the comments/e-mails/messages of wellbeing.

Look after yourselves, see you soon.

I hope.

Not sure what has brought this post on. It's not one of the ones I promised myself I'd write, perhaps I'll save them for next week.

I was thinking about suicide, again, actually.

Possibly spurred on by my next psychiatric review on the 19th Feb. I was thinking what I would tell them about myself, my state of mind, my feelings...

It feels like something I am bound to. A path I can't get off of.

It feels like I will do it, definitely, one day. Feels like all the events that make up my life are just preparing me for it.

No worries, I won't do it now... I mean I'm not in danger.

It was just like a realisation. All those attempts which failed... were they a sign to tell me how to do it right?

The pills haven't made me better... because they know they're a short-term solution?

Oh well.

List

For once, I actually have a stockpile of posts to write... a poem inspired by a Springsteen lyric, as suggested by Dana... a poem based on the last post...

But today, I am going to do a short post about my 'list'.

I first wrote about the list back in 2007... believe it or not. It was my homework from my psychiatrist to think of five 'positive' words about myself and then put a big piece of paper on my bedroom door for other people to do the same... write things about my character which they thought to be good.

You might've noticed Dana being kind enough to give me words periodically.

Well, rather stupidly, I tore the list up in a particularly vitriolic fit sometime last week. When I received a new word the other day I decided to re-instate said task and make a new list.

So... I invite you to start your own self-development posters... make them beautiful, show them off and let's give each other a few gifts made of words.

What goes on inside that head of yours?

Did your Mother ever say that to you? I remember mine saying it to me... so often, even before she found out about the self-harming. Every time my siblings and I got into a fight, which - of course- was my doing as I was the oldest. Every time she said I had put on weight. Every time she thought I wasn't concentrating on school or college as much as I should be.

The last time though? That was the time which cut right through me.

I had been taken to hospital by my GP after an overdose. I was taken to the children's ward - even though I was 17. My Mum and my youngest sister followed in the car, they stopped at the shop downstairs to get me a toothbrush and some toothpaste then came up to the ward. They waited outside whilst my stomach was pumped and I was hooked up to monitors and IVs.

I hope to God that my sister didn't see any of it. I didn't want her to come into the room but Mum said that it would make me guilty for what I had done. It did. Everyday I wonder whether E (my sister) had seen them working on me. I pray that she didn't.

Then they both came in with a consultant and a psychiatrist and a nurse. They gave me my homework journal from my bag and a red felt tip pen. They told me to write about my day, in detail. Then once I had done that they all left the room, my Mum only stopping to leave me a pile of 20p pieces for the phone.

I called her later, after my Dad had visited. His visit was short and he didn't look at me or talk to me. He got out his phone as his boss called... just to talk to me. To see if I was okay. MickMac from Romford... you got me through that night. I haven't spoken to him since.

In the morning the psychiatrist spoke to me, and then at lunch to my Dad who had just arrived. He said my Mum was too hurt to see me. Between them they arranged to let me home that afternoon.

I snuck into the bathroom to call my friend E from my mobile. I had done it last night too, to ask her to tell everyone at school I had tonsilitis and to speak to someone.

I got out of the nurses scrubs I had been given as pyjamas. Got back into my college clothes and got my bag. Dad drove me to a pub for dinner, and then home.

When I got home my Mum was there, having taken the day off work... because of me. She ran me a bath. I asked if she'd call my friend A to excuse me from my Young Enterprise final that evening at Specsavers... she said no, that I would go as normal and be back in college the next day.

So I went. I gave my speech, I got a lift home with A and I went to bed.

Then, as my Mum came in to turn the light out she thought I was asleep... she leant over to pull my sleeves back, to see my scars. I let her think I was asleep. She corrected my sleeves and whispered "What goes on inside that head of yours?"... then she went to bed. I heard her crying for at least an hour.


Why did I post this? I've never documented it before. Never let myself diarise any of my attempts.

But now, on the day I don't want it to happen ever again I am going to get it out. Catharsis, as they say.

Inside my head? Anything could be going on.

PS I spoke to an old friend from Primary School the other day and found she has just been told she suffers from a similar thing to me. I hope I can help her... now that our lives have brought us full circle.

I love this place

You know?

With the pictures and all of you reading and everything.

It's good.

Unlike me.

Hesitant

I find it a little laughable... updating you all on my current mood. Since it changes so often.

But - right now - at 00:00am GMT - I am alright. Ok.

It makes me laugh because earlier on we got stopped by the Police (routine vehice stop... plus we have GSY plates) and I had a panic attack. I reached for the keys *of all things* to hurt myself and I did. I stopped breathing properly. I relished in the pain.

But, having moved on from that, I'm not doing do bad.

Uploaded snow pictures onto Facebook, and it cheered me up looking at them.

So yes. Right now... Nikita is ok.

I hope you all are too. x

Go Away

This is me, turning my head away.. away from the camera, away from people, away from reality.

In myself, I feel good. I had a good day... snow, IKEA, tidying... can't go wrong.

But in my head? In my head are dark thoughts. Thoughts which tell me to run away. To look away. To push people away.

I find myself doing it automatically. Not returning the calls from a friendship I am so desperately trying to cultivate. Being moody with Will. Worrying about things which don't need to be worried about.

An episode is on the horizon... but will my awareness of this be enough to push it away?

Slipping away

I've been having thoughts recently, almost lonely thoughts.

Wondering what will happen when one day you can't even see my scars. Everyday I notice that one or another of them has slipped away... never to be seen again. For some reason it feels like when I don't have them anymore, or they can't be seen, the bipolar and borderline will be meaningless. Like I'll have no 'proof' of my suffering.

I know how terrible this sounds. Missing scars that I put there myself. It sounds like I want attention, and can only get it subliminally... read like a code on my arms.

This evening I sent a horribly bitchy e-mail to Will at work, I know when he reads it he'll be so upset.

But I haven't sent another to apologise. I haven't called him to say sorry.

It's like I feel better in myself, but now that I do I am pushing away the person who makes me feel best.

I feel like I'm mourning the scars of years ago. Just like a loved-one they can't be replaced, not even with new ones.

Simplicity

This weekend... is about simplicity.

We spend the day having a roast lunch in Southport... followed by a lovely amble around a new garden center, with a delicious cake.

Doesn't sound like much... perhaps an average Sunday in the life of my Grandparents.

I spent a little bit of the day wrapped up in the voices and skeletons of my own head.

But then, I shook it off (for once) and sat back to enjoy the ride.

When did you last do that? Take a look out of the car window...

Forever

So much frustration... so many things I want to say... but can't.

All I can try, is poetry.... and all I can produce... is this.

Forever

Forever is how long people claim to love you for
It's how long you live with your past
Forever is 'for' and 'ever' stuck together
Crudely
Like a picture
From Year One.
Forever is a lover's word
A liar's word
A mourner's word.
It starts tomorrow
But no-one knows
When it began
Or when it will end...
... If it will end.
An eternal promise
An eternal curse
A loving bind
A suffocation.
The quagmire of forever.
Forever.
Forever.
Forever.

My name's Nikita...

... and I am 19 years old.

I am here because I think I am fat and ugly and inherently bad.

I try to make myself better by taking sharp objects to my skin.

Sometimes...

... All you can do is be honest.

Still no

Thanks for all the kind comments on the last post... I was a little fearful that it would be ill-received. But my fears were unfounded, thanks.

However... things are still not good.

The self-harm? Worse than in a long time.

The crying? Could fill my bathtub.

I thought I had repaired the relationship with my Mother, now her words seem to scream it is worse than ever. My time to make a decision has come... get close to my family, or run. Again?

A New Person...Again

For the first few weeks, and days, after an episode...

...I am fearful
I am unsure
I am not confident...

I walk along a tightrope every day. I scratch my cuts. I try to rise early. I lose weight.

I emerge... again.

I cannot stand the sound of my own voice.

I use 'I' far too often.

So before I make myself cry, I'll leave you.

Until the next post...

PS I found out that a friend has been reading from afar... thank you to him. x

The Aftermath

Is just as bad as the episode.

Hang tight

Back on the Doorstep

I had a feeling it wouldn't be too long until I ended up on all of your doorsteps... in fact I mentioned it to Charli just the other day on her blog. I try to convince myself that I am strong in solidarity, and capable of taking care of myself.
But the truth? We all need each other, sometimes. Yet no matter how many times I repeat that in my head... a little bit of me still feels not good enough. Not worthy.

In times past I may have just sat here all evening, crying my eyes out... shouting at the dog and hurting myself. Now, I am trying... desperately, to confide in you all. To reach out to you. To try to grab onto something to stop me falling.

Not easy, when your self-worth is practically through the floor.

The poem below is one I wrote as a stubborn 14 year old, I have taken it and tried to mature it. I wrote it about my relationship with my Dad, but have reworked it so that the controlling figure is bipolar disorder.

Only You

I am screaming
You do not flinch
Cannot move
I yell until
I just can't
Anymore.
You do not want to hear
Cannot hear
I need everyone to know
Someone to see
I want a way out.
Surely
I can break away
Now grown up
Matured
I am sure...
Until you walk by.
Trampling me
Crushing my spirit
Cutting my soul
I am silenced
Put away for another day.
Only you allow me to see
To be
To try -
Without you I'm unable to move
Unable to explain
Cannot move
Cannot explain.
I am controlled
Only
By you.
Please
Please
Don't forget me
Because only you
Can set me
Free.

Brush with Beyond

I've been back there
Back to beyond
I got pulled back there
Back beyond.

Readers/observers of my Facebook page will notice that I had a pretty rough weekend... and I don't mean re. alcohol consumption.

The (boring) story behind it is I rang up on Friday to get a repeat script of my anti-psychotics, totally forgetting it was the weekend I planned to collect them on Saturday... long story short I couldn't collect them until Tuesday, so I was reduced to cutting up my last 150mg to make it last. I was not an advert for prescription drug addiction.

I found myself dragged back into a place where it was dark, yet I felt blinded. The place where voices and shadowy figures tried to swamp me, tried to take me away from reality... tried to convince me that all goodness is a lie.

And when I was back on them? My chest was tight, my balance a thing of the past... my vision all but a blurred mess.

Perhaps this post has no point, perhaps I vowed to write about my life... and this is it.

The Interview Game

Thanks to Charli, here are my answers to her Interview Game - check out the rules at the bottom and let me know if you want to play... even if you've played already I'm sure I can sort out a few new questions.

PS I'm not doing it in poems like Charli, having such a rough day. Sorry.

1. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one ability or quality,what would it be?

I would be able to tell the truth, first time and everytime someone asked it of me. I have a tendency to drip-feed the truth to people, or tell them what they want to hear.

2. Would you be willing to murder an innocent person if it would end hunger in the world?

I don't know the answer to this question. On the one hand, famine in any area of the world is a travesty beyond words... but on the other I don't think I could sacrifice one life for another. At the end of the day I believe in a plan - and far be it from my right to intefere with this scheme.

3. What is your most treasured memory?

The day I met the man who was to teach me to be beautiful; in spirit - in soul - and in life. That man is my fiancé.

4. When were you last in a fight? Who won?

William and I fight on a weekly basis, but all that comes out of it are words which cut and linger... nobody ever wins one of those fights. Physical fights... that would be in the 9th year of Secondary School, my friend and I were in the packed cafeteria - only one chair was in sight, and we both wanted it. We pushed and giggled and rolled around on the floor, only to look up and find the chair was gone and nobody at the table had even noticed our absense...

5. How do you react when people sing "Happy Birthday" to you in a restaurant?

The last time someone did that to me was my 18th birthday in an Indian restaurant in Guernsey. My first reaction? I got ridiculously angry through my embarassment... my second? I just ate the ice cream that came with the song and candle :) Nobody has yet admitted culpability for that stunt...

So there you have it... here are the rules.

•Leave me a comment requesting an interview.
•I will e-mail you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
•You then answer the questions on your blog.
•You should also post these rules along with an offer to interview anyone else who e-mails you wanting to be interviewed.
•Anyone who asks to be interviewed should be sent 5 questions to answer on their blog.
•It would be nice if the questions were individualized for each blogger.

Thank you Charli.

Suicide

It's 5:30am - I haven't slept, and I'm not going to.

A topic never far from my mind, the topic of a conversation I just had with the love of my life - perhaps a topic I touch on too much.

They say that everyone has thought about it, or will think about it in their lives. I've lost dear friends, and the world has lost beautiful souls. I nearly lost myself, a few times.

I think Will's new job is the best thing that could've happened... for the first time in my life I'm vulnerable and frightened and alone - but I know I don't have to be anymore. I'm not stuck in a pit whose only bottom was final.

I don't have a lot to say, I just like to post what I think lately.

I wanted to say that suicide is not painless, and if any one of your are in that mindset - anytime - please come to me. Go to anyone you know, anyone. Please.

For Dana, for everyone

Here we go darl, ten facts about me.

1. If I had the money, I would spend it on creating a perfect home for a family. Because that is my ultimate dream; to have a child, or two, or three... with Will. I would spend all the time I had trying to sculpt something befitting a new life, and try to ensure that it was ready to help us bring a new human soul into the world.

2. If I'm 100% honest I wouldn't change my body. I complain about it everyday and I can't stand to look in the mirror... but nobody can accuse me of not being myself. I've been underweight and I've been overweight - right now I am just called 'healthy', but I'm as happy as I've ever been with myself. That's not to say I won't wear minimising bras, straighten my hair, wear control underwear and use products.

3. I can't stand the darkness, for the exact reason that I fear the unknown... I don't like to not know what is in front of me. I hate the idea that somebody or something could grab me without my consent or my knowing. If I hear a noise when I'm home alone I'm much more likely to hide in my bed, than run out with a knife. What on earth would I do with a knife when confronted with an intruder?!

4. I still don't believe I'm mentally ill. I still think I'm a 15 year old in her bedroom just scratching at herself to get some attention, though at the same time dreading anyone finding out. From my first therapy session I have had the belief stuck in the back of my head that I'm making it all up.

5. When I meet someone new and they ask me what music I like, I just tell them that so long as I can sing along, cry or feel it in my soul... it's my type of music. I miss playing the clarinet and am considering having it sent to me, so I can play again. I have always wanted a saxophone, because when I play that... it's the definition of soul.

6. When I feel down, I want to feel up.

When I feel up, I want to feel down.

Borderline Personality... thy name is Nikita.

7. I've always been a better listener, than a talker. When I was in therapy I used to ask Dr H about his day and his holidays and how he felt, I used to tidy his desk for him. Hence I am now persuing counselling, and my own place in the CHMT - someday.

8. The last story which made me cry was an 11 year old boy from the Wirral, who hung himself with his school tie from his bunkbeds. I have tried 1 million times to make sense of that, but failed everytime.

9. If I were to invite someone 'famous' to dinner... I'd be too nervous my flat wasn't tidy enough and cancel the date.

10. My dream job when I was little was to be a skipper on a maxi yacht for someone famous. Now? I'll sail anything that floats.

Transition Liverpool

The People's Celebration

Tonight in Liverpool at the new Pier Head the whole area came alive with light and sound. The celebration was to mark the 'transition' from Liverpool '08 Capital of Culture to Year of the Environment in '09. It also marked the passing over to the European Capitals of Culture '09, the Austrian city of Linz and Vilnius in Lithuania.

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to go into town, but as William works there now I said I'd go along with him before work because he is obsessed with fireworks, and I wanted to go to dinner in this fab Thai place in Liverpool One.

But we did go in, got the tube and walked down to the front with thousands of other people - I didn't realise how big an event it was going to be... There was a tannoy and over it (apparently) 800 different Scousers were talking about what it means to them to live in and around Merseyside.

After watching the Royal Liver Building being lit up in fantastic colours for a few minutes a really loud heartbeat sounded over the speakers, exactly in tandem with my own. It continued for what felt like forever, before a loud presentation started illustrated on huge screens all along the docks. The presentation was a review of Liverpool's history from 7,000,000,000BC to today.

The soundtrack to the proceedings came to our attention - everthing from The La's to The Beatles... And the fireworks began whilst slides of all the activities from the past year started.

The music and the noise was moving my entire body, the bottoms of my jeans were shaking. The beauty of the fireworks and the pride of the scouse community almost had me crying.

For the first time, I belonged. All around me people hugged and kissed and looked up in awe at the display of human dexterity and kindness around them, we felt proud to be living on Merseyside and we marvelled at the distance the city has come in a few short months. We all sang along to the songs, waved at the cameras and Will and I shared a beautifully tender kiss.

Even now I can still feel that beat in my heart, and my soul... it says that we have changed and yet we're exactly the same.

"All together now
All together now
All together now, In no man's land
Together"

In Hospital

In hospital, it smells just like they say it will
and I don't like it.
There are faces
and looks
and glares,
They don't like me.
To them
I am a waste
a selfish
waste.
Or so it feels.
Each scar upon my arm
is like a beacon
for snide comments
for embarrassment.
The IV in my arm
seems undeserved.
The air I share with 'other' patients
seems undeserved.

In hospital, I am another gown
which doesn't quite fit,
I am a little plastic cup
with little plastic pills
in little pastel colours.
It fills me with pain
but numb pain,
it patches me up
then pushes me aside.
Whilst I am there I should be all better
but really I'm all worse.

Everyday I remember being 'In Hospital'
The corridors haunt my soul
The charcoal reeks in my memory.
I cry inside
because they kept me alive.
I cry
because I wanted to go.
I cry
because I'm glad I stayed.

I just wrote that, because I can't get it out of my mind.

Domestic Goddess

You know, I think Will's new night job might just be a positive thing for me - rather than a negative one as I feared.

Last night when he woke I cooked us both a meal - not usually in my itinerary. Then later when he'd gone to work again I fixed myself a snack, looked after the dog and tidied the kitchen and his (pig-sty) of a wardrobe. This morning I mopped all the floors, did the washing up and fed the pets... do you see a pattern emerging?

I'm up earlier than I ever was before, because I've got things to do I suppose. I hate to admit it but this is perking up my confidence substantially!

It set me to thinking. I've always, always been told that I don't put a great enough value on myself or my acheivements... to me, ever since my GCSE's I've been in decline. C's at A Level, dropped out of Uni, can't cook... anything I see as a tiny flaw I will attack myself over and over for. I don't think I do anything right, or as good as someone else - in my eyes everyone is better than me, and it's always been like that. Some people find it adorable, but most find it irritating and frustrating.

But these few days I seem to be building it up again... perhaps I can dry the washing, perhaps I can cook a few things.

Perhaps I'm not useless.

That's terrifying to me - my entire life is based around the premise that I am, ultimately, not good enough.

So at the same time at being thrilled of my new acheivements, I'm also slightly scared and cold at the thought of my long standing self-deprication disappearing.

But right now... I have to run to the chemist ;)

bisous

Nope

Stay with me on this one, please.

Today I enrolled at SkelmersdaleOrmskirk College, as a part-time student. I'm just going to be doing a counselling level two course... I hope it will earn me favour with the Uni people. I also hope it will make me a little more of a person again. I felt that since I had to leave Uni in April 08 I was useless, uneducated and my confidence was literally in tatters.
In April it seems I fell apart, and ever since then it's got worse of course - but more often it's got better. I don't have nearly the same level of professional support I had in Guernsey, but somehow Will and I have muddled along.
Whilst I signed up today and had my picture taken for my ID the smile was genuine. I was thrilled - made up to have been accepted. Until then I'd convinced myself that enrollment would be impossible.

Even now, it doesn't seem real. It might be a tiny baby step but it's mine, back into education and back into life.

On the other hand Will started his new job tonight, working 10:45pm-7:00am. So I'm all alone for five nights a week. Am I scared?

Petrified, is the word.

I'm not brilliant alone for a long time, let alone at night. But I'm trying... I took the dog for a walk, went to the shop and now I'm eating apple turnovers watching tv, until bed.

I'd be lying if I said I'm sorted for the night, but I hope I'll be alright. What makes it worse though is that I have my psych app first thing in the morning and Will won't make it back, even if he did he'd be too tired to come anyway.

The appointment I'm dreading... the psych seems to think herself drastically 'better' than me since she is mentally healthy and earning god-knows-what a year. Maybe I'm wrong, I'm sure she'll be fine.

Sorry for the diary-like approach to this, just needed a chat really.

Surprising Uplift

I never thought I'd say it, but I'm doing okay.

No New Year's resolutions, no miracles... just taking the pills everyday, bypassing the razorblades and blocking out the voices.

For once, I have no words... nothing to say. Doesn't bode well for a blog does it? If truth be told I don't quite know how I feel, or what's happening to me.

I know it's not all perfect and problem-free, but just now I can't even focus on that. I've tied myself up in knots now and I can't remember what I was going to say!

I'll leave it here, but as William starts his new night job on Wednesday I'll be writing a lot more, I expect.

Welcome to the rest of your life

Happy New Year everyone, I hope that it is happy and full of health and that the hurts of 2008 can begin to heal.

It was a quiet one this year, just us in bed watching tv and sharing a kiss as the bells chimed and a new year rolled in, full of promise and fingers crossed that this year will be better.

I've never been sure whether I like the New Year celebrations or the philosophising it somehow throws everyone into. Each year we remark on what went wrong and vow to not let it happen again - but we know a great deal of it will. This year I will still have bipolar, living will still be expensive for people everywhere and suffering will not be abolished.

Yet somehow, somewhere in my brain I am full of hope. I am praying to a God I don't know whether I believe in. I am smiling for an invisible camera. And just for a minute or two I really think we can make this work, 2009...

...Good Luck


"Everybodys out on the run tonight but theres no place left to hide

Together wendy we'll live with the sadness

I'll love you with all the madness in my soul

Someday girl I dont know when we're gonna get to that place

Where we really want to go and we'll walk in the sun

But till then tramps like us baby we were born to run" - Bruce Springsteen