'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

That time....

Christmas crept up, and then went all too quickly. In Liverpool? Well the day was quiet, and pretty much perfect...just the two of us. 

It was the first year ever that it passed without blood being drawn, without violence and without bitter arguments. Was I surprised? You can bet I was...

A few times I caught myself panicking, my heart rate creeping up and tears forming behind my eyes - but I turned and saw Will and the falling stopped. 

No tears, no arguments, no pain... well fuck me this must be what Christmas is 'supposed' to be like.

And now we're stuck in this odd time between Christmas and New Year... do you get back to 'normal', do you carry on relaxing? Do you think over the year passed, or the year to come? Do you think of things to give up, or things to take up?

Will it be a New Years Resolution, or a New Years Revolution?

Let's hope it'll be better than last year... but I don't want to build up ideas of perfection or grandure... I hope 2009 will work on what I achieved last year, and instead of taking steps backwards... will move forwards. 

Of course there'll be a few bumps along the road...

... wouldn't be life otherwise, would it ;)

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone... it may be uncertain, or you may not be ready. But it's here :)

Pills

I've a pill to make me happy
A pill to make me sad
A pill to make me wish
And a pill to make me dream
Plus a pill to just remind me
That I'll never be the same.
My pills make me sleep
Then perk me up,
They make me happy
Then tread me down.
You know what gets me most?
There's a pill
To make me human
To change my mind
When they said
All along
That
I could never be
Would never be
Enough.


Just a crappy little poem there as I was thinking over the issue of mental illness and therapy and so-called cures. I know that there is no cure for bipolar, or anything else. Why is this? Because, really, no-one knows what it is. A diagnosing doctor can't tell me how it feels, the nurse who frowns at my cuts can't say she's never thought about it, the HCA who mops up my blood can't scold me for bleeding...

We all bleed. Everyday. Not always blood or tears or sweat, but humankind. We bleed through injuries and hurts and cuts. We lose people and we fall in love, we sleep and we dream and we wake. We go through a million cycles everyday, just to be called alive... so what I do/did is just a visual for the world. It just says to people I am like you. It reminds them that everybody does hurt, everybody is hurting.

I am what all people feel, but refuse to look at.
I am called ugly for my scars.
I am called selfish for my illness.
I am called a freak for my feelings.
Well guess what?
We are all scarred.
1 in 4 people are mentally ill.
Everybody feels.

So this Christmas... hug a crazy person, we're just like you ;)

Love you

Christmas Season 2008

Gorgeous photo there of the the Guernsey Christmas lights... not mine of course!

I wanted to apologise for the lack of posts or comments, my laptop broke first and then it fixed itself, and then the Internet broke... Fortunately a few things came together, at last. So we still have no phone line to dial out on, but the Internet works - so that's all you blog lovers need to know ;)

So here's what happened today...

Will and I took our gifts round to his Nans house so that she can take them all up to Doncaster on Christmas Eve, then we decided it would be good to go to the big indoor market in Liverpool. We got about two miles outside town, and the car battery died. We called the RAC and they say since our membership runs out next month we'd need to buy another year before they came out. Yeah-fucking-right. 

So we called Highways Agency and they said for a couple hundred they'd gladly tow us to Preston and charge us for each day we leave it there.

Right.

So we called Aunty Gill... only her car wouldn't jump ours.

So we hailed a cab and took it back to Skelmersdale, and eventually got hold of Aunty Ang and she duly dispatched Uncle Rob in the people carrier to tow us home. At 30mph the automatic towed the manual with no brakes... we got home, and I started to breathe again.

But like Nan said - it woulnd't be Christmas without something going wrong.

And it made me think, it's often that crappy things happen this time of year... and we shrug a lot of it off, because of the festive season. We let people get away with it, we smile through near-bankrupcy, we block out old memories...

One Christmas I walked into town only to pick up my Dad from jail. I was 13.

One Christmas at my Dads house an argument erupted and things were thrown, blood was drawn and we were out on our ear walking into town in our jammies. I was 12.

One Christmas I attempted suicide, but every Christmas - at some point - I wish it worked.

None of this post is written in the 'correct' manner befitting the season. None of it is happy or optimistic. 

I'm sorry for this, but near the end of the year I start thinking back. I start feeling down. I ignore all the progress I have made, and I just think. 

Perhaps this season has a lot of soul-searching to answer for.

But perhaps it's just all about growth. Human growth. Maybe the more thinking we do, the more gifts we give, the more painful bridges we hold together... the more family contact we 'endure'... the more we grow.

Just in time for next year ;)

Wrong Way

Today on PostSecret (see my blogroll), a certain secret touched me...

"I've been using Manic Depression as an excuse to give up

I should be using it as a reason to try harder"

Have I been doing this? 

There are a lot of things I dismiss as being unreachable to be, beyond my mental capacity - too stressful and likely to cause an episode. But if there's anything I learnt writing my personal statement for the nursing degree it's that I have to work harder.

Rather than shying away from things, I need to gravitate towards them... things people wouldn't expect me to do, I want to do. 

Bipolar may be my decision maker... but it needn't be a restriction.

What an epiphany.

How often do we all do this though? Shrug off a suggestion or ignore an opportunity... only to beat ourselves up about it.

Perhaps the lesson here is not to let anything limit you.

Perhaps we should all try it on the edge for a while... it might just lift you higher than you've ever been.

Love

I am in love

With a boy

He loves me too

I am in love

With you

I need you

To love me too.

I need you

To see my eyes

To feel my scars

To touch my soul.

I am in love

With pain

With hurt

I am in love

With band-aids

And steri-strips.

I love to hate

A cure 

For bad

A healing

For cold,

I love to hate

That you just...

... don't understand.

Quick Turnaround

I know I only just blogged a few hours ago but I'm sitting in bed watching music television waiting for Will to come home from town. I can't go to sleep without him at least in the house.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the image I project to the world at large. Of course this time of year I am fully sleeved - so the scars aren't the problem. 

Today for example. I dressed in black jeans, black patent flats, a navy Edinburgh hoody, a green pashmina and of course a sling. (Why are they such yucky yellow/brown colours?)

On my face I wore a smile for the most part, but no make up - I wore my hair loose, long and curly and brown with a side parting and a lot over my eyes, just as Will likes.

Today I took a bath first thing and combed my hair in the lounge (a recent trip to IKEA meant that we have gone from no mirrors in the house, to two of the things). My skin was pretty clear, my eyes really dark and my hair much longer than I remembered. 

I feel like I have emerged, that I've been wrapped in a bin bag for a few weeks. Nothing has changed - same clothes which really need replacements, same hair colour, same scarves... but today? I wore it all with confidence - and for the first time felt that it doesn't matter ultimately what you wear, so long as you do it with a little confidence.

This is the most recent photo of me I like... one whole year ago. 

Next step on my road to health? Take a new photo...

Angel of the North

This picture was taken standing just next to the structure named above... the best kind of sunset. Not perfect, not the trademark colours, not the perfect clouds... but the light, well that could warm anyone up surely?

The last few weeks of late have been less than festive, the house looks beautiful and Will had a fabulous birthday - but as ever my heart wasn't in it. I always strive so much to be perfect, so much in fact that I don't take any notice of whether the people around me actually think there's a need for me to do better. I do ok.

I tore my trapezius muscle the other day - not badly, (in the shoulder) and since have been wandering around in a dumb sling which I try to ignore and go without but I just can't be stubborn this time - it hurts too much not to wear it! Since this injury it seems that my mental state has been a lot better.

I can't help wondering though... is this the best I will let myself get? Will it be a case of me not acheiving anything more than this? Is it best to admit defeat now?

Such depressing talk... my apologies.

4 Years...

... since I raised that fateful blade!

No idea how I've made it this far

Connie

Yesterday I received a Christmas card. Not a card from a family member I never met, or a friend I lost touch with... but a woman I have not seen since I spent the night at her B&B in May.

I went to her freezing cold and alone, fresh out of a police cell in the South of England. She welcomed me into her home and gave me her ear to listen, not asking what I had done, what the scars on my arms were or what on earth I planned to do with myself. She made me okay.

I want to say thank you to her.

All because of Pop Tarts

Yes, as I stood there over the toaster making our morning treat for this week... Pop Tarts, I started to think.

To be honest it wasn't the morning, because I am getting up later and later these days... people comment on my weight loss - well the secret is sleep - if you don't get up till tea time, then you don't eat until tea time.

I feel guiltier by the day, I know it is the meds but everything seems so dull. I am a lot more aware of myself than I used to be - on the train home this evening I couldn't even eat for fear of other passengers watching me. I don't really phone my Mum unless I have to, because I can feel in every word she says the utter disappointment, the confusion - the wondering how her daughter could have messed up so much.

She doesn't know the half of it, that's what gets me.

If she's judging me by what she knows then what about the rest? She has no idea I've been on benefits... that I live off Will instead of a job... that I turned that 'nice boy' against me all by myself. Her tone cuts me right down into my soul - because if she thinks that what she knows is bad, then what on earth would she think of the rest?

I find myself less and less concerned for the people I have left behind, after all it was being in that environment that put me in hospital after hospital... wasn't it? I don't even know anymore... perhaps the bipolar wasn't from past trauma, perhaps it wasn't from extreme stress...

Maybe it is all I am, and all I have ever been.

And then the toaster goes and all of a sudden all my thoughts are channeled into how on earth I'm going to get it out...

You haven't lived...until you've cried

Then my darlings, I can safely say that I have lived. So have all of you. 

All together we are living and we are alive...we cry and we feel.

Tonight I am crying...but it's okay right? Because I am living.

This is what they call living.

Right.

Well...

...I did it again. No matter how many how jokes I make about being reformed and a good patient and taking my meds. Sometimes I just can't make ends meet; sometimes the thoughts and feelings in my head overwhelm me so much the only thing I can do is to hurt myself. To pick up any object which could possibly cause harm (trust me my brain can find fault in a pair of tweezers), and use it in such a manner which would turn a lot of stomachs I'm sure.

And the result is one or two or maybe more abrasions on my otherwise milky-skinned arms. Angry, red marks which sting when I look and stab when I have to tell Will, marks which I pick at and peel away the fibrin, trying to make me better. Marks which aren't alone, but have at least 100 companions.

So all I can do is to admit it was wrong, patch it up and try to avoid my gaze for a week or two. All I can do is to say 'sorry', to anyone who has the misfortune to see.

My mind a quagmire
of dark and deep,
A pit without bottom
a tunnel without light.
Sharp and think
come taunts of death,
Fear and loathing
quash help and faith.
The end has no beginning,
and the beginning no end.
A piece of string
from a reel of harm.
Pain delves deep
into a failing soul.
A wingless angel
cries in a noiseless voice.

- Nikita Le Sauvage, 2007

100 things about Nikita...

1. I was born on the 15th June 1989, in Guernsey - CI
2. I was three weeks late
3. Subsequently I was pretty round
4. Subsequently my parents nicknamed me dumpling
5. I have two sisters
6. One is 15 years old and nicknamed bubble
7. One is 9 years old next week
8. I have a cat, called Mittens
9. And a dog, called Baby
10. I have lived in five different towns
11. My favourite was Doncaster
12. I have been engaged since July 8th last year
13. I live with my fiance
14. I love to sail
15. I can play three instuments
16. Including my voice
17. I am grade 7 at all of them
18. The other two are keyboard and clarinet
19. My mother is tone-deaf
20. My first poem was published in 1999
21. My second in 2000
22. My third in 2001
23. I won a poetry scholarship in 2006
24. I didn't take it
25. My first regret
26. I was personnel director in my Young Enterprise Group
27. We won the south-east competition
28. I was school captain
29. I was the first school captain
30. I was a prefect
31. I've only ever won one trophy
32. It was for services to the school
33. I passed my 11+
34. I was accepted to girls college
35. I chose mixed grammar school
36. I took 10 GCSES
37. My grades slipped by the time I got 3 A Levels
38. Six universities accepted me
39. Hull was where I ended up
40. Nine months later I quit
41. I've written over 200 poems
42. None of which I like
43. 10th December 2004 was the first time I hurt myself
44. It's been four years
45. 8th January was the first time I attempted suicide
46. I sometimes wish it worked
47. I am bipolar
48. I have borderline personality disorder
49. I've tried too many meds to count
50. Anti-psychotics are where I've settled
51. I'm a book addict
52. I've a list of every book I ever read
53. I own most of them
54. My favourite shop is Fat Face
55. I can only afford Primark
56. I've broken two toes and two fingers and numerous ribs
57. I always hated sports day
58. Because I never won
59. Save for the wheelbarrow race, once
60. I hate my boobs
61. I'm not body-confident, at all
62. I don't think I deserve compliments
63. I have only ever had one car
64. But I learnt to drive at 9
65. In a tractor
66. I worked 4 years in a garage
67. None of which I was old enough to drive
68. But I did
69. I passed my theory test with 100%
70. I scraped the practical first time also
71. I love ice cream
72. But have a mortal fear of mushrooms
73. And aubergine
74. And peas
75. I cannot cook
76. I've given up trying
77. I write a poem a day
78. I've written my journal everyday since June
79. My longest run yet
80. I love my iPod Touch
81. I have over 150 DVDs
82. Some are Will's
83. The CDs are mainly mine though
84. I prefer CDs to downloading
85. I am afraid of the dark
86. And things which crawl
87. But not babies
88. I would love a family
89. But worry I'd do it wrong
90. I wake up each morning to check Will is still with me
91. So far he's never not been there
92. This list was easier than I imagined
93. Though mainly drivel I expect *EDIT* This isn't technically about me... so in here I'll stick that I can speak 4 languages competently. Only 2 fluent.
94. You've probably not learnt anything
95. But I have
96. I prefer showers
97. But will bath in darkness only
98. There are no mirrors in my house
99. I can't look in changing room mirrors
100. But I love the reflection in Wills eyes

Blog Control

Well hello everyone. I found myself with many things to say over the past week, but somehow stopped myself - as though I was afraid of being judged. Which is odd as I don't ever recall being judged badly in the history of this blog. It's also annoying as now I don't think I've anything to say. 

I love this time of year so much... the cold bites and the wind stings but I somehow manage to feel quite secure. Cosy even. This is a drastic change to how I've previously felt... things always seemed to go wrong and everything felt bleak. I think the change has just coincided with me trying to teach myself that I can't live for everyone else... it just isn't possible. 

One thing I will miss is Guernsey... and my friends. It's been so long since I've seen them and I do often feel like I have none left. But again this time of year reminds me that I do have so many people close to me... even if their closeness is not physical.

I know what I meant to write... a '100 things about Niki' list, sort of like Carmi did. But now I'm just not sure there are that many things to say about me.

It's been a while...

...since I rose at 7:30am.
It's beautiful isn't it? Even now the winter is approaching and it's not as light as it might be in spring. Still the crispness of it all is beautiful, and standing at the back door watching my breath dance around daintily like the smoke of a candle extinguished.
I stood for quite a while, watching the yellow new sky turn to a fresh blue above the flats. I glanced around at the lights being pulled on and imagined all the showers and baths being turned on as waited for my own lukewarm dip (that woke me up no end).

After my bath I IM'd a few people who did not share my sentiment...their replies all centered around student grumbles and groans which I took to be the alcohol probably lurking in their system. But no worry, I was like them for a little while - without the liquor - and they'll see it one day, even if just for a moment.

You want to know my most beautiful morning? It was an autumn morning in Glasgow...I woke up on the floor of a student flat surrounded by a group of friends. I looked out of the window in the kitchen and the Glaswegian orange night lamps had been replaced by a sunrise with every colour I could ever imagine. I don't think I'll ever forget it.

My recommendation of one thing to do before the end? Camp in the open, just in a sleeping bag and survival sack. You'll get soaked and probably not sleep at all but maybe you'll be lucky and spend the evening under a show of shooting stars, and wake up to a clear sky - the beauty of which drowns out the M27 bypassing the New Forest, and even diverts attention from the deer trying desperately to get into the bins next to the cabin...

And now back down to earth...wake up Will the sleeping beauty and get down to the garage to try to pry away my car from their oily clutches.

I know

There is a smile. It's on everybodys face at some stage in their lives. It's the smile which knows pain.
You might think that only a few unfortunate people can have this smile.
That would be a mistake.
This smile will strike everyone, and ignore no-one.
It's shown to another who seems to be doing fine.
They might be fine just now, but one day the smile will pass across their lips.
It hurts.

I decided to return to an old blog format, one that consists of many different elements - basically I can't think of one big idea, so I'm throwing a few in at once. Plus my journal ran out of pages but the car's in the shop so haven't gotten around to getting a new one...

To be honest a few things have happened in the past week...Will and I are floating the idea of moving back to Guernsey. They do a few places for nurse training reguated by the UEA and if I could get one then we could move back. Naturally it's not that simple and the idea comes with the necessity of finding the money to rent on the 'rich persons haven'.

Lately I have been yearning more and more for the simple life, like I had back at school. Sure there were a lot of mental health problems, that's another point 'for' Guernsey - the healthcare is brilliant, but I still drove my little car to school and around to the beach whenever I wanted. I taught sailing and could go whenever I wanted.
Now of course there is rent and gas and electricity to find, my health rests not with the CAMHS but with the CMHT - nothing is easy anymore.
Will has a boat but it's way down in Dartmouth and we can neither up sticks whenever we want or leave it floating sadly in the harbour down there.

I guess the main deal-breaker is just a tiredness, felt by everyone who has a responsibility - maybe to a partner, or to children, or even to a job. I'm tired of being a grown up. I want to shake my head and stamp my feet. I want to protest that my chidhood was cut short. I want to scream from the rooftops that I am only 19 years old.

19 years. That's all I've had - even Will has had 22 - did I miss the classes on paying rent? Organising Dentist appointments? Paying for petrol? My sister is 15 years old, the same age as me when I first attempted suicide. That's scary, that petrifies me everyday. Since I was 15 I've done a lot...I've been to A&E in about 10 hospitals, I've gotten into Uni - and left, I've gotten pregnant - and miscarried. Why did it all have to happen so soon? Why are my arms littered with scars? Why do I take anti-psychotics every morning, not birth control? Why-oh-why are my liver function tests so bad you'd think I was a 50 year old alcoholic?
And then there are the people...why did I disappoint my Mum? Why did I hurt Dad? Why have I abandoned my baby sisters?

I know an episode is coming, I will regret writing this diatribe. But I also know that I don't understand, anything.

PS I will seek medical help in the morning.

How Mad Are You?

Just a quick drop-in today. I watched a programme yesterday (see the link at the bottom of the page), which made me think. I like that - I like that an essentially useless thing, can be useful.

The programme is essentially an experiment, with 5 'normal' participants and 5 'mentally ill' participants.

It challenges 3 mental health professionals - and the contestants themselves - to decide who among them has suffered or does suffer from a mental illness, and who is just plain 'normal'.

Already the professionals have spotted one man with OCD, but they wrongly assumed one woman had no mental health issues.

It makes me wonder - if you saw me in a crowd, would you know that I'm 'crazy'?



http://www.bbc.co.uk/headroom/newsandevents/programmes/horizon_hmay.shtml

Ma Vie

My life may not be straightforward, and it may not be conventional
It may not please everybody, but perhaps it touches some
My life is getting used to being lived for me first
And others later.
Everyday it makes me feel guilty for claiming it back,
It tells me I need to do more.
But really, whatever I can do should be good enough.
Each day that I live in the outside world,
And not desperately in a hospital
Each day that I wake up and swallow it down
Is a triumph.
I wonder if I mean enough
Or give enough
Or help enough.
Perhaps my existence makes no mark,
Perhaps I change nothing,
Maybe - just maybe...

...I am okay.

For now

Sunday Night

I've never been one to give up on someone. No matter how much they may appear to hate me, or think what I do is wrong, I have always maintained that eventually I would win them over.
Unfortunately I have made my first exception.
My eldest sister, J, aged 15.
We haven't spoken in nearly a year, she never forgave me for leaving Guernsey with Will, she was hurt when she found out about my Dad.
Apology after apology I've given her, even gifts in my desperation.
But now I have decided to let it rest. I remember being 15 - I took no prisoners, I wouldn't take apologies from anyone.
I just didn't want to do it without writing about her. She's beautiful - taller than me already, perfect hair and teeth...a better physique and wearing make up when I've only just started. She's clever too, wants to be a lawyer and she's well on her way - you won't find her getting engaged at 18 or quitting Uni.
So here's to her, and one day being friends again

What it's like to be bipolar

There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you're high it's tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones.

Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people.
Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced irresistible. Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one's marrow. But, somewhere this changes. The fast ideas are too fast, and there are far too many, overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friend's faces are replaced by fear and concern.

Everything previously moving with the grain is now against....

you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and emerged totally in the blackest caves of the mind.

You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.

- Kay Redfield Jamison, MD


I don't like standing near the edge of a platform when an express train is passing through. I like to stand right back and if possible get a pillar between me and the train. I don't like to stand by the side of a ship and look down into the water. A second's action would end everything. A few drops of desperation.

- Winston Churchill (1874-1965)

Angels

Don't worry...no Robbie Williams in sight.

I was thinking last night, as Will and I talked about my latest episode, about the people who were always there for me before my betrothed.
They never knew, never saw the scars or the pills. But still they were there...and of course they did know, because I'm crap at hiding things.

Now there are three photos above my bed..a white camellia in the middle, Will and I at prom on the left, and on the right there are my girls. Four girls in beautiful dresses hanging above my bed. I like to think that they are watching over me, that as I lay in bed sleeping or watching a movie or just hiding from the rest of the world, they are there to help me still.

We don't talk that often, as life has thrown us all over the UK. We have new friends, in new homes with new lives. But when I look up through the tears of bipolar, or just of life, we are all there together - happy and full of hope for our lives outside of Guernsey.

Over the two years some of us have gotten engaged, one of us had a baby and three of us continue to battle with mental illness.

Here's to all of us meeting up again one day, getting dressed in our best and going out with hope in our eyes...so there'll be a few extra boys, a gorgeous baby girl and hours of therapy sessions...still they'll be there to hold my hand, my purse and (hopefully not) my hair.

La vie sans lumière

That's how I feel like I'm living right now - not in darkness, just without light. You know that time of the evening just after dusk where the cities still glow in the distance and the street lamps are still orange but you need a light with which to read.

I'm in one of those towns, watching a city breathe. In the morning the motorway hums in the distance above the waking of the birds, at lunchtime the roads are jammed with commuters trying to make the most of a 40min lunch. And in the evening, the motorway starts to slur and as the sky turns to marl the lights flare up, a twinkling array of orange and yellow which seem to make you squint with the achingness of it all.

It's like a life lived from a distance, always cautious and curteous - avoiding confrontation or anger. Occaisionally depression sets in but you don't complain because what good would it do? Time after time terrible things seem to happen to you but because of your thoughts you don't wallow in it, you move on and accept that you can't have deserved the goodness anyway.

And the lights, when you see the lights you long to be there with all the 'other' people who get promotions and friends...you ache to be right there in their false embrace, surrounded by their wealth and seeming longevity.

But then your light comes on...throws attention to the half-finished decorating, the floor you mean to replace. The pets who aren't well trained, the food which is from a discount range. These things are real and they might not be illuminated, they might sometimes be lonely but they are never false. The sound of your little flat may be drowned by upstairs and next door, the light from it may not even reach your garden...but it's heard, by the people who are worth having...by the people who walk away, sometimes, from the city - to be a part of the world.

What I mean is that life may be a little dark in comparison, but light it shines goes much farther than the horizon.

Frost Run

The title has no connection to the post, I'm just sitting here alone pretty cold and it feels like no matter how much I put on or how many blankets I find I'm still running from the cold, and it never lets me get too far ahead.

For a few days I stopped taking my medication, becasue I thought I had got better - I was making jokes and smiling all the time.

It turns out that was because of the medication.

Will made me see sense and I have started it up again, which means enduring all of the crap that comes with a new psychiatric medication - sleepiness and grumpiness and general bitchiness.
I self harmed last night also, which was disappointing. More than disappointing.

I think disheartened, is the word of the day.

Every Morning

(This isn't two posts in a day - the last one was before I went to bed last night)

Every morning I wake up and regret.

I told myself that no matter what happened or what I did that I would never have any regrets...well I do.
I regret not getting through Uni, at least not the first year.

It may seem small and you may tell me I can try again, and you'd be right - but it's not the same. On my first attempt I failed, things got tough and I ran.

I look around Facebook and see all these beautiful friends of mine happy and thriving at Uni - whereas what do I do?
Nothing. I sit and wait to get better, pretending that I'm in recovery so that people won't ask why I don't work.

I let my mother down.

Rain on the Pretty Ones...

No words of mine today darlings...just the lyrics of Ed Harcourt. (No idea where they came from - just found them on an old memory stick.)

I'm the hunter who's killed by his dog
I'm the statue burnt down into lead
I'm the problem you don't want to solve
I'm the lover who dies in his bed

So rain on the pretty ones
Your useless lives don't speak to us
Rain on the pretty ones
You leave no footprints in the dust
Adventurous you used to be
But now you seem so dead to me

I'm the doctor with a needle in his arm
I'm the cartoon that makes you feel sad
I'm the secret that everyone has
I'm the cancer that never turns black

So rain on the pretty ones
Your useless lives don't speak to us
Rain on the pretty ones
You leave no footprints in the dust
Adventurous you used to be
But now you seem so dead to me

I'm the actor who's scared to perform
I'm the sunshine that hides in the clouds
I'm the father that couldn't be found
I'm the cuckoo that never flew south
I'm the Christian that cannot forgive
I'm the dreamer who jumps off the bridge
I'm the sinner who hates how he lives
I'm the liar who gets what he gives

A Moment

This evening is strange for me. I feel contented, and I feel safe.
But I feel so alone.
I feel dark and suffocated.
I feel like I can't make anything okay.
I chatted to a good friend last night and told her everything was okay.
But I lied.
I am struggling, still.

Drawing In

The clocks go back on Sunday here in the UK and that means that it's going to get darker, colder and all the more winterier over the coming weeks.

Personally I love this, I love the dark evenings under a blanket, I love the jeans and tops I start to live in, I love the wellies I'll need to take the dog for a walk.

I'm not at my most literate today though I have been writing a poem a day in the back of my journal for some time now, and it feels good. The meds are at a steady level, I can rise before lunch and the wedding plans are well underway.

Love you

Reinvention

You'll notice (I hope) the colour and font changes to the blog. I thought that it was time for another fresh start. Not that I am unhappy with it or anything like that, a little change just felt right. And the colour of my bedroom wall is a perfect colour to match with.

I worry that my choice of colour for my blog reflects badly on my personality, and that the hot pink of blogs gone by will put people off, and make them feel that there is nothing of substance to be found. Which I hope there is.

You might also notice that my grammar is all over the place today - I apologise for this and rather shamefully blame it on my latest medication. Whilst the stuff infiltrates my system I'm running on half empty, and awake only about 5 hours in every 24. All in the name of mental wellbeing.

I appreciate that drugs are not always the answer, but on the otherhand I recognise that I do have a condition and if I am to use medication to reach some sort of level-footing then right now I am not in the position to say no.

Perhaps if this medication takes then I can actually put some thought into this blog, and say some of those things of substance!

Much love xxx

Back

Hey there everyone

So the new puppy is settling in, she is called Baby and thankfully is now getting to know Mittens the kitten.

Today I got my brand new meds - Seroquel. I figure now I'm on anti-psychotics I've joined the ranks of the truly crazy!

Watch this space for updates on the crazy house.

Wedding

Now I don't want to say lots and lots tonight, I don't want to upset Will (if he reads) and I haven't even allowed comments on this post - it's just venting that inevitably follows a few rough days.

A few days ago we ordered my wedding dress, but I don't know what size to get or even how to pay for it.

Every time I mention ordering invites my beau changes the subject - it's only four months until the wedding.

I keep asking if we can put the final deposit on the reception, but he says it's booked for now and we'll pay soon.

My point is I feel out of the loop. I don't know what's happening. I don't know about Will's finances. I'm a control freak.

I just needed to put this out somewhere. A new post, with comments enabled, will be here soon.

Crappy crappy crap crap

It happened again. Last night we had a fight and I hurt myself.

So it doesn't happen as often anymore. So I don't buy double-edge blades anymore.

It still has me, right in its silver, sharp grip.

And?

I knew it was too good to be true. Selfridges was a farce. No-one knew I was coming. I was herded from one place to another for two hours. Everyone there was fatter than me. It was humiliating. Course it wasn't going to work.

I am not going back there. Ever.

Just forget it, you know? It's way too hard. Cannot wait for these bloods to come back then the pills start, and me as I am today will hopefully disappear.

Diagnosis

So it finally happened. Four years of pills and doctors and hospitals and pain...all brought together by two different psychiatric disorders, finally with a name.

Cyclothymia (rapid cycling bipolar disorder - annoyingly called 'bipolar lite')
Borderline Personality Disorder

Next comes the treatment. Which is good, right? I get the right treatment, and the rest of my life can start - hopefully with only a few pills each morning, and an outpatient appointment here and there.

On Thursday I have to have blood tests done, to check I'm okay for the new pills. I just hope they don't affect fertility, as I do so want a baby - and no-one has told me what they actually are going to be.

I'm all for it.

Also on Thursday I have an interview at Selfridges, an interview I want so much. For a job I always fantasised about.

Fingers crossed for a bit of good wind.

eBay

Now, we all know what it is but my goodness I had never experienced anything like it before. I have been popping along to buy my trademark kitsch earrings for some time now...but selling? It never even occured to me.

It all started when Will decided to sell one of his treasured Rolex watches (for purposes unknown to me he has 4, and 2 are exactly the same...)
After that I decided to sell a few bits of clothes...then an ornament...then an old PS2...then some bags.

Is it at all possible that selling is more addictive than buying on eBay? I'd like that...it makes me money, rather then taking it from me.

(Is it just me or do eBay transactions not feel like real money? Like it's a giant game where you hand over simoleons or something (SIMS money) and then get giant pink flamingoes for the garden...)

Anyway, just a lightheardted post for a change.

XXX

PS I wonder how many times I have said 'anyway' on this blog over the years...

How about that?

Here's a coincidence for you.

I am from Guernsey.
My next door neighbour is called Mike. His son/nephew (can't remember), lives in Guernsey, with his wife from Sark....

Isn't that mad?

Well to me it was entertaining

Update

Each day that I neglect to write this blog is another day that I lose touch with most of you whom I only know through this medium. This saddens me. But all the more recently I find myself with little of interest to write. I know that the context of a blog is writings from an average person on their average life, but my perception has always been off. Where some people would write of my recent weekend in Manchester, I don't. When some people would write of my on-going mental health struggles, I don't. When some people would even write of my police investigation experiences with my Dad, I just don't.

I could tell you how frequent my self-harm has become. I could tell you of my charity work. I could tell you of my University rejections. I could tell you of my longing for the sea. I could tell you of my weight loss.

But I don't, do I.
xxx

Check out www.twloha.com . For some reason the story on there has been getting me through.

"To Write Love on Her Arms is a work in progress. This began with one broken girl, one painful night; addiction, depression, cutting. This is a glimpse at the five days that followed, a decision to love and to begin telling her true story. To Write Love on Her Arms is becoming something bigger, something hopeful. It's the realization of what life can be when we commit to meeting a need. A friend of mine told me there's no such thing as suicide prevention. This is an attempt to prove him wrong, to say that love can change a life. We can hold back the darkness. Rescue is possible. "Believe your voice can mean something.""



"The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds.
We miss them in the storms.
Tell them to remember hope.
We have hope." - Renee, twloha


Much Love

Nineteen

Yet another birthday passed on Sunday. A whole four years almost of this blog, in its various forms...
The only way I can rationalise it is if I've got through nineteen years already...then the rest has to be easier...right?

Love to you all

Growing up but falling down

No more apologies today guys, yes it has been a while since I wrote to you all - but I don't feel I could have helped that. I just hope that you have all been well and that you will all come back to me one day!

I am hoping to settle near Liverpool, where I am right now.

Maybe it is time to succumb to lithium.

Who knows.

Miss you

Another Absence

Many more apologies

Life has dealt me another blow. I discovered I was pregnant but then I suffered a miscarriage.

I have left University in favour of living off Will and trying to decide where to live - right now we're in Weymouth for the Kite festival.

I urge you to e-mail me on my new address which can be found on Facebook and we can catch up - not up for public sharing just now.

Hope you're all well

Missed me?

Hello all you people

Apologies for the absence - life has been interfering damnit.

New pills, new lease on life. Working the 12 steps for self-harmers. Charity plans. You know the drill - I come to you all excited and a few weeks later I'm drunk on your cyber doorstep.

Horrible feeling Will's bought a new car or something ostentatious. I'll pretend not to be interested of course, then steal it at night and go on therapeutic jaunts to ASDA and other retail suckers.

See you soon

cipralex and money my life

Wish upon a star

You know that moment when you wake up from childhood? You know the one, when you realise you're not going to live in a castle, or be an astronaut, or have a crown - or whatever your particular dream was?
I had that moment the other day. The worst moment in a long time. I realised I wasn't going to live in a castle and spend all day chasing my children around until my husband rushes in the door and sweeps us all up.
I still have dreams of course - to pay rent and bills, to have children, to marry Will, to get a nicer car... They're still dreams, but they're attainable. They're justifyable.
I'm not saying kiss goodbye to all your dreams now, I'm just saying beware. If you haven't had 'that' day yet, run from it for as long as you can.

Animosity

Because I'm a lazy wench and not very festive I shall take this opportunity to collectively wish all my readers a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

There, that's that out of the way.

I've often wondered what it would be to have a meeting. A meeting with everyone who ever read this blog, and decided to stay with me as I chart the peaks and troughs of each wave of my life. Some of you I have met, of course, whilst others are the stuff of pictures and Facebook profiles.

I wonder whether we'd get along in 'real life'. I wonder whether we'd like each other. I've wondered where we would meet and what we would do. Would we talk or stand/sit embarrassed that this group of strangers, with whom we've shared our lives, are right here with us?

Just a thought for the New Year

PS - great article on Saturday Paul

Blogland Publicity

Good Evening all

I've written nothing of substance for quite some time, however today I have been struck by several ideas and thoughts which I feel would be perfect to explore here. I have promised people that I will write a diary but guess what? Screw that, this is my diary - this has been my life chart for over three years and though it has had its not so good moments it has still always been the first place I turn to when I need to justify my thoughts.

On that thought: sex blogging. I am pretty sure that there are very few readers of this page who also frequent this blogging phenomenon. I have just watched a Channel 4 programme, and though it focused on sex blogging it also raised interesting points on blogging at large. Most people I know have, or have had, a blog at some point and they've had readers. It has become apparent that many published authors were found via their blogs - this staggered me as it alerted me to the fact that these blogs attract millions of hits everyday. Maybe not mine - but the ones of substance.

Oh and on the subject of sex, since women are becoming more liberal, I had never embraced it until I met Will - it was something to be feared and something that men could use as a tool against women to hurt them. It was something I just wasn't supposed to think or talk about - but now I am in a stable relationship and sex has just become something which is spontaneous and makes our relationship more fun - and cheeky ;)

The next thing I wanted to talk about was the time of year; of course it is still officially autumn but outside it feels like winter. I just walked to the village in search of fatty food and everywhere you look there are beautiful shining crystals of ice - I could see every exhalation of my breath and those who hastily walked past me wrapped up in coats and hats and scarves and gloves - you'd think they lived in the Arctic, not East Yorkshire. I just had on boots, joggers and a hoody and I took my time walking. I saw the frost, I slipped on the ice, I laughed as my breath looked like delicate smoke. In Edinburgh there is snow, in Manitoba there is snow; here there is none, neither in Hampshire, neither in Guernsey.

Today I handed in my third and final essay of the first semester, with a sense of pride - it was something I did quickly but thoughtfully, like many of my essays. I went into town for Starbucks. I went to the Doctors and I picked up my ever-increasing repeat prescription. I came home. I finished packing. I cried. I hurt myself and then I cried a little more.

This, dear readers, is not the stuff of books - this is the stuff of my life.

And miles from where you are I, lay down on the cold floor

It isn't long until Will leaves for Scotland.

I had another CPN appointment today, my medication might change.

Will is 21 on Saturday.

I haven't written a poem since October 2006.

Writer/human/thing...in despair.

Force 7

I've been feeling 'iffy', as it were, for quite some time. I dismissed this as depression and nothing to take into consideration; sure Will took me into hospital and I discharged myself, but I figured a big fuss over nothing.
I've been having a lot of memories which forced into perspective a lot of my previous memories, and it now emerges that the bipolar disorder with which I have been diagnosed, has fabricated many of my memories and traumatic events.
Today I went to the neurologist (a condition of my discharged AMA) and he told me that legally I cannot drive for one year as they think I have epilepsy. I have to have more tests to see if they can confirm that my fainting is actually seizures; and thus epilepsy.

NO DRIVING

FOR A YEAR?!

YEAH-FUCKING-RIGHT