Today has been a pretty loaded day for me. I’ve been in a strange headspace the past week, with the attacks in London and me trying to improve my spirituality I’ve been on a strange parallel between recovery and the dark side of life. It seems the more spiritually inclined I am becoming the more disinterested I am becoming in life. Now I don’t mean that in a depressive way although it sounds depressing, I mean, I feel as if I can see the fragile nature of this world and the cruel attacks around us carried out everyday and I just do not feel motivated to worry about the things I once worried about, they just seem frivolous in comparison. I used to worry about finding the right person, heck I even talk about it on this blog, finding something I’m passionate about etc. etc. and yes, I want those things if they come to me, if they don’t, I’m just not phased as much. There is so much pain around me, just in the same city, let alone the rest of the world, that it just doesn’t seem as much of an agenda as it did before. I’ve cried nearly everyday this week, through an increasing amount of spiritual connection and because of all of the attacks and injustices that have happened in the UK this month (for one – Grenfell tower was NOT an accident btw). I mourn for the lives lost, for the fear-mongering that the media carries out everyday, I mourn for people who are attacked as a result of the lies they print. I hate that it has come to this, but come to this it has. All the while we go to work, live our lives trying to gain some sense of stability in this madness, and then I have a whole lot of madness inside my brain to deal with as well.
Suicide reared it’s ugly head today, twice, almost as if it was a theme for the day. An old best friend of mine got in touch with me after over a year of not speaking. She lives in another country and we’ve never met but we connected years back on a very deep level. This is mainly because her BPD symptoms and issues branching off of BPD are the most similar to mine that I have ever come across. Now I’m sure most of the people who are reading these MH blogs know that even though 2 people can be diagnosed with the same disorder, they can manifest in completely different ways. This can happen even more so in BPD as there’s a whole host of criteria that you can meet and since you only need 5 out of 9 that vary, it’s almost like a ‘pick and mix’ bag of symptoms. But when I speak to her, I can tell her anything that I’m feeling/experiencing and she relates totally, and it’s the same for her when she talks to me.
The thing that really hurts me though is that she experiences it x100 in comparison to me. I’m not invalidating my experience or pain, it really is that way. Imagine my pain when she messages me this morning, when I’m already stressed because I was running an hour late to work and tells me she had been depressed as usual (a normal topic of conversation for us) but that she had made another suicide attempt a few days ago.
The worst thing about it was how heavy my heart feels for her, and yet, I can do absolutely nothing. She said she is just existing and all I could tell her was that for now, just exist. I couldn’t say why, I knew if I told her things will get better it just wouldn’t matter right now. I have been suicidal, I’ve been there, I made an attempt when I was 16, and a close to-attempt at 14. When you’re in that much pain you don’t care about the next minute of your life, let alone ‘sticking it out because at some abstract time in your future-I-can’t-tell-you-when’ it’ll get better, which both of you know isn’t even a guarantee. I can’t make her want to live, and that’s what hurts the most.
So I get into work and try to make it as normal of a day as I can, but I was already exhausted by the long journey (90 mins late!) I had to use my skills on the way because being late causes me anxiety and coupled with the fact I haven’t had much sleep this week. While I try to make it through to 5pm, I get a call at around 4 by a psychologist telling me a patient is coming in to where I work and that they’re suicidal and need to be seen by someone to help decide whether they need to be sent to A&E. I speak to a Dr, who agrees to call the psych back. It upsets me so much, knowing that there are people out there in so much pain, that they want to take their own life. Yes, I struggle with my moods, I don’t sleep well, my brain runs on a 100mph, it feels like I have 2 minds and I try hard to appear normal and live a normal life when all I want to is to act on urges and destruct whenever I’m stressed and act on my sex and love addiction on top of it. What I ate at lunch triggered me, I didn’t have breakfast and I had a reasonable portion, but you know when you eat and you can see your belly poking out a little since you just ate? I realised now, the harsh truth, that I am being triggered by my body. I was triggered by the appearance all day, it was on my mind from the moment I finished my meal. I felt guilty for eating what I did, and I hated the sight of it. I decided I’m not having dinner to make up for it. I know now, that I really do have an eating disorder and the worst thing is, I don’t even know if I want to make the effort to fight it right now. It just feels like one more ‘issue’ on top of everything else I’m trying to deal with.
I don’t want to go through the process of convincing myself that I should eat, that it’s okay, it won’t make me huge. I just don’t have the energy today. It’s not just a ‘weird eating phase’ anymore. I looked at my thighs the other day and the sight of them stressed me out repeatedly. They need to be thinner, they need to be thinner. I surveyed women in their summer clothes today, how ‘her belly looks flatter than mine’, ‘her thighs are thin and she’s fine’ and on and on my brain goes at me relentlessly. I hate that I can’t just eat like I used to. The times I do eat like yesterday, I have to fight thoughts about how bad of an idea it was, how it’ll make me gain weight, how I’ll regret it when I see on the scales I’ve put on weight. I check my weight on the scales in the bathroom everyday, and I mirror check to the point my sister asked me two nights ago whether I was anorexic because ‘that’s what anorexic people do’. She didn’t even mean to tease me, she was genuinely asking me that because I do it so often (multiple times a day I lift my top and ‘check’ how my stomach’s looking.
I’m so done with today. I know I will make a post about why I don’t think suicide is the way out, because even despite our struggles, it really isn’t. There is life to live for, even with mental illness. For now, all I will say is, if you have even 5 minutes where you are or you were happy, it is worth it.