Its been three months since my breakdown, and not much has changed, except I have managed to stay out of hospital.
Yesterday I had an appointment with my out-patients psychiatrist, who just asked the question, ‘How are you really Dee?’ Instantly I looked down, looked at the ceiling, looked at the walls, hoping she would say something, anything, just give me an out so I didn’t have to answer the question, but she sat there staring at me.
Tears started streaming down my face, she got up put her hand on my shoulder and passed me a box of tissues.
I am lost, I am empty, I don’t even recognize myself.
Jobs or tasks that were once second nature to me, are now major challenges. I have days where I spend most of my time in bed, not sleeping, just staring out the window, blankets pulled up to my chin. I feel safe there. On these days I don’t have the energy to speak.
My progress since leaving the hospital has been hard.
Its like I am dancing with the devil. Two steps forward, three steps back. Slow, slow, quick quick slow.
Everyday is different, the slightest thing can set me off. They teach you in hospital to break down your time.
One day at a time.
If that seems too hard, then lets make it to lunch time, and then we’ll make it to dinner time, but lately I have had to break it down to hours. Just get through this hour…and we’ll worry about the next hour when we get there.
My psychiatrist explained to me that I have pushed all this trauma and abuse way down into the back of my mind for decades, and the breakdown I suffered was always coming…I just didn’t know when.
I have run and run all my life, but you can’t out run mental illness. It doesn’t stop to take a breath. It’s like an avalanche, it gets bigger and faster and by the time it catches up to you, it leaves you flattened, broken, and frail.
So the genie is out of the bottle and now I have to deal with it.
Although I have not cut myself badly for a few weeks, I have done what most abused people do. I have changed my weapon of choice. I have now binged on food for weeks. I am so disgusted with myself. I eat until I have an overfull stomach and then I suffer with the uncomfortable stuffed feeling for hours.
As soon as my stomach gives me the slightest bit of relief, BANG! Off I go again! EAT EAT EAT.
All I am doing is just replacing the cutting with bingeing. What a bloody nightmare!!
So in the spirit of all things terrible, that I do to myself, last night I cut again. My wound is open, weeping, and aching like a bitch. Throbbing , pulsating, and shame and guilt are once again my best friend.
I woke up this morning feeling like I wanted to vomit. Luckily I didn’t, but my wound has kept me awake most of the night, so I have got up and redressed my wound. It looks like a bloody horrible mess…just how I like it…and the pain is unbearable, so coffee with a side serve of pain killers should get me through the next few hours.
So to say yesterday was not one of my best days would be an under-statement. It was probably my worst day since leaving the hospital. That is how mental illness dances. Slow, slow, quick quick slow. Two steps forward, three steps back.
4.00am
Its 4.00am and the only light I can see is here on my computer. Everything and everyone around me is asleep. As I should be. However, depression and it’s many friends don’t work to a time schedule. They come and go in your mind and all you can do is try to strap in and survive the ride.
So today is a new day. I have not self harmed today, I know its only 4.00am but you have to take your wins when you can. My goal is not to self harm in the next hour. Maybe I’ll make it to lunchtime.
Hope is what I am left with…and I am hopeful.
Yesterday was a shocker, but today is new and fresh and I have the energy to write my yesterday down and share it with you.
I hope that my story will in some small way help you get through your day, and if you have to take it hour by hour then know that it’s ok. We are all braver than we realise. We are our own very best friend, and wouldn’t it be great to have a best friend just like you!
As the rays of sunlight are just starting to peek out of the black night sky, I can hear a few little tweets breaking the silence as the family of little finches who live in a jasmine vine outside my window start getting ready for the day.
And this girl is about to make herself a nice warm cup of coffee. More often than not, it’s the little things that can make you smile, and through the next hour you sail.
Be kind to yourself,
Love Big Fat Dee
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