Are you still there?

It's been such a long time since I've written on here. It's been such a long time since I've commented on your blogs, although I have been reading and I have been thinking of you. I have noticed those who aren't around much and have thought of you. I can only try to convey how sorry I am that I haven't been able to write to any of you, express any concern or leave any comments.

I can't expect anything back from you, as I haven't given you anything but thoughts. Maybe that's what I'm asking for here.I don't even know if any of you are still reading this poor excuse for a blog.


If you are, I need you. I need to know that you are still there, still fighting and maybe sometimes thinking a thought, or whatever it is you do, for me.

I haven't been this bad in a long while. I'm hardly eating anything. I'm struggling to keep down the amount I'm drinking. I want to not be here. I know suicide isn't an option any longer - I have someone more important than myself to think about that now. In a twisted kind of way it makes the thoughts and obsessive ideas worse - before there was the ear of me doing it to stop the thoughts, not, no matter what I think or for how long, I know it's never going to happen ... so the thoughts go too far ...

I feel like I'm stuck struggling up and then easily slipping back down the same few feet of the muddy pit I'm doomed to be stuck in.

Right now I can't see light and I can't see hope.

It's been akmost 3 months since I last wrote on this blog ... great consistency, huh? And yes, that is me being highly sarcastic ...

Sometimes it feels like I survive by sacasam ... or at least in being able to poke fun at myself ... is this so very wrong do you think?

On the one hand, being able to laugh at myslef has rescued me from many a pitfall I didn't need to experience ... on the other, I am constantly self-ridiculing and bringing up for public scutiny my own personal shortcomings and failings ...

... put like that, a not entirely healthy scenario, right?!? Or am I being over dramatic or annilytical?

Anyways ... from June to September I was taking part in a 12 week group therapy course and that is the real reason for my silence ...

Right now I am at the point of exhaustion where I can't really think, so bed is the only option.

I will be trying so hard to come back to you this week.

All best thoughts.

Where have I been?

In my head. In my past. In my memories. In my flashbacks. In my physical sensations. In my desperated attempts to block it all out just for a while.

I have always been a processor, a thinker, an anilyticol type of girl, someone who thinks, evaluates and reads, reads, reads to try and work things out, to understand, to try and shed some light on whatever it is I'm dealing with right then.

So the fact that I'm doing a group therapy course for 12 weeks this summer, means 90% of my mind is constantly processing and thinking about what happened to me, the consequences and my sisters.

Everywhere I turn I see something, read something, that reminds me, upsets me, stirs me up, jogs a memory, prevokes a flashback, triggers a panic attack.

I can't be a very easy person to live with right now. My poor husband.

The last couple of weeks have been particularly hard, as I have been preparing to talk about what happened to me in the group.

My individual worker strongly suggested I should start to write my memories down. I didn't think I'd be able to, but having started, I don't seem able to stop. I can remember a lot more than I thought I could, now that I can hold the memories on paper, rather than in the jungle of my head.

I can't write anymore right now, but I will again soon - I really will. Thank you for your patience and thank you for listening.

Dream of Mirrors

Have you ever felt the future is the past, but you don't know how...?
A reflected dream of a captured time, is it really now, is it really happening?

Don't know why I feel this way, have I dreamt this time, this place?
Something vivid comes again into my mind
And I think I've seen your face, seen this room, been in this place
Something vivid comes again into my mind

All my hopes and expectations, looking for an explanation
Have I found my destination? I just can't take no more

The dream is true, the dream is true
The dream is true, the dream is true

Think I've heard your voice before, think I've said these words before
Something makes me feel I just might lose my mind
Am I still inside my dream? Is this a new reality
Something makes me feel that I have lost my mind

All my hopes and expectations, looking for an explanation
Coming to the realization that I can't see for sure

I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I'm alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself
I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I'm alive
I only dream in black and white, please save me from myself

The dream is true, the dream is true
The dream is true, the dream is true

I get up put on the light, dreading the oncoming night
Scared to fall asleep and dream the dream again
Nothing that I contemplate, nothing that I can compare
To letting loose the demons deep inside my head

Dread to think what might be stirring, that my dream is reoccurring
Got to keep away from drifting, saving me from myself

I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I'm alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself
I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I'm alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself

Lost in a dream of mirrors, lost in a paradox
Lost and time is spinning, lost a nightmare I retrace
Lost a hell that I revisit, lost another time and place
Lost a parallel existence, lost a nightmare I retrace

I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I'm alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself
I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I'm alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself

I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I'm alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself
I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I'm alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself

The dream is true, the dream is true
The dream is true, the dream is true

Dream of Mirrors, Gers & Harris, Iron Maiden

Late night ramblings

I haven't written here in ages. There has been too much to say.The thought of trying to find the words to say what is going on right now has been enough to stop me from trying to write.

For me, the question never enters my head as to whether or not I am going to provide the emotional and physical support that my husband has needed from me in the last 6 months. Ok, so yes, I'm a human, and sometimes it has been a big struggle, a massive swallowing of any back-comments, but the pulling out of bed when you are beyond exhaustion, the tying on of shoes when your fingers are weary, the packing up of lunches and some nice surprise treats when all you can think of is sleeping all day or cutting till you have to go to A&E, the tissues you find for his tears of hopelessness even though you can't remember what hope looks like, the cuddles when he is lost but you need space ... all of that, plus the housework (even though you haven't got the mental or physical capacity to do much), the grocery shopping (even though you get bad neck ache from carrying it 2o minutes home) and the cooking (even though it's mostly late and leaves a mess and costs more then it's supposed to, 'cause you're less able to think on-the-fly ... I have done, and willingly.

However, on top of all of this and I've also been getting in the final assignment for my own module and doing 4 3/4 hours of therapy a week ... I am exhausted beyond belief.

Oh yes, and I was so desperately determined that I didn't want to carry on with the whole binging-and-purging thing that this is my 19th day without making myself ill - I have never made it this far in the last 2 years!!! A massive struggle, but hopefully I'll make it another 19 days from here - that will make 38-days-Bulimia-free!!! :D It has been really hard at times, but I always hated it and now even more so, so please may it continue!!

I knew in theory what this decision/action would mean for my emotions, but yeah, phew, really.

Honestly, I have been relying more on my other coping strategies, I have been drinking more, more often and cutting again more frequently and except for when I have drunk a lot, I hardly eat a thing ...

It's all really f*cked up right now and sometimes it seems an impossibility to ever get it to any sort of reasonable ... shape? I don't know.

How I've been and questions about scars ***

*** Possibly triggering - suicidal ideation and self-harm ***

I haven't posted in a while. I just haven't been able to. Every time I've thought about writing out how I'm feeling ... yeah, emotional shut-down basically.

Life has been, at times, hell on earth. I hope never to find out what hell is really like, but boy, this is quite as bad as I can take, thank you very much.

I actually had to text my personal, long-term therapist the other day, cause I was feeling that bad and was getting so close to actually following through on a suicidal ideation ... no, I know it just isn't an option. I've promised my husband I won't, he trusts me 100% and I know that this is a promise I am going to keep - as sacred, if not more, than my marriage vows.

But you know? It still scares me sh*tless when I'm that close to the edge. And in a weired, twisted sort of way, the fact that I know I can't do it and that I have to stay here, makes it worse - like I have no way out and am in some kind of prison or restraints.

I guess that ultimately, hopefully, that's for the best.

So here is a question I have, one that has bothered me quite a bit over the years, and quite a lot right now ...

How do you feel about wearing sleeveless/short-sleeved tops/dresses when you have scars on your arm?

You see, I don't self-harm on my arms anymore, haven't done since not long after I got engaged and started thinking about my wedding dress.

I got some special kind of scar-gel from my dr and used it twice a day, and went to someone who showed me how to apply prescription scar make-up. The pharmacy messed up my prescription and gave me African-American skin-colour make-up, which sadly, due to much stress, I didn't realise until the morning of my wedding, so ... I had to do the best I could with my chief-bridesmaid's cover-up and once the ceremony was over, my flowers were permanently over my arm until the reception, where I had this fun, very-me scarf over my arms ... yeah, a bit of a nightmare! But hey, I got to wear the perfect dress, see the look in my husband's eyes and hear him say how beautiful he thought I was and if anyone noticed, they never said, so worth it? Yup!! :)

So now, over a year since I last created a scar on my arm, they have gone from red to white, but are still quite raised. I am trying to work towards being less self-conscious about it but ... still worry that the scars are glaringly obvious to everyone else. My amazing husband, who's wonderfully supportive in every way, has sight issues, so has admitted that he really isn't a good gauge of wether or not my scars are easily visible. He can feel them and knows they're there, but can't quite see them now, although he could a few months ago.

I'm trying to practice walking through the supermarket or mall with my long sleeves pushed up to my elbows, so kind of half covering, but still safe for me. I haven't noticed anyone staring at me, but it's very anonymous - will friends who I'm sitting next to and talking to for a while notice?

Am I just being over-paranoid?

I would really value any comments you have on this topic - thank you so much!

The Celestial Companion

Still, courage, my friend.
Still, all is not lost and you are not yet done.
Still, there are fires to burn in the darkness and light to cast amongst the shadows.
Still, there are moments that must be taken, fighting and spitting to the ground.
Still, nothing has killed us yet.
Still, the sky smiles on the brave.
Still, have the strength to try and hold the sun in the palm of your hand, once more.
Still, ever burning.
Still, the most beautiful things come from beneath the ground.
Still, the light is cast from the darkest of places.
Still, we labour on under the cover of stars.
Still, we know the truth rides high in our chests.
Still, the world has yet to end, no matter how hard any of us try.
Still.
Until we are still.

Crappy Day

I heard on the news on a music radio station that Jaycee Lee Dugard's captors were sentenced to 467 years between them.

The hubby asked what it was about and, as I have read and seen quite a bit about the story, I filled him in and told him all about it.

The final item of crap in a crap-filled day.

I've had a bad day.

First, I woke up with the all-too-familiar realisation that I'd drunk too much last night.

After helping hubby get out the door (whole 'nother story, suffice to say he needs lots of support right now), I fell asleep and woke up at 20 minute to - just enough time to get washed, brushed and dressed and make it to my therapy appointment at 10 ... glancing at the clock while grabbing some coffee I noticed that, yup, it was 20 to 11, not 20 to 10!! Ahh!! And I have been so very strict with myself at not missing a single therapy appointment since I started this latest therapy in January.

Why is it that something that last week caused me to go into mind-numbing-I-can-only-moan-and-whimper-in-pain-and-sleep-for-three-hours, now makes me angry at myself when I miss a session?!?

Then my stomach has not been happy with me today (hmm, no clue why that might be ...).

And now it's that time of the month and I have really bad cramps in lower stomach and back - something I haven't had for the last 3 or so years ... ok, so maybe because for a lot of that time there was a significant lack of a menstrul cycle ... not impressed that the cramps have returned.

So by the end of today, when I'd been thinking too much about too many sh*tty things, including how messed up my family-of-origin is and how much I want my siblings to enjoy being the amazing aunts I know they would be when I have kids and that I want to be able to tell The Mother that she's going to be a grandma with no regrets ... but in reality, I know that the day I find out I'm pregnant, a new stage of this nightmare will begin.

You see, I've never confronted The Father about the abuse. Whether or not he's pretending he didn't do it and would never dream of admitting it, or whether he has managed to put it in a box and firmly shut the lid, concentrating on being the wonderful, wise, insightful, highly religious and devoted father that he fools everyone into beliving he is ... I don't know. Either way, he tries to act toward me like nothing ever happened.

I know that to many, many people, it is highly astounding that I have not cut my family off entirely. There is one huge reason why I haven't done that, even thought I have desperately want to and continue to long to do so at times.

I love my sisters very much. I care about them and their welfare. I can see all the abuse (not sexual in their case, but emotional, spirtual, physcological and financel) that they have been through with me, but they can't. I consoled myself when I moved out of that house and caused them a huge amount of pain and hurt, with promising myself that I was going to help them see the truth and get out one day, or at least to know some people their own age and were not people that simply worshiped The Father's religious ideals.

So my very real love for my sisters (formed through 21 years of being homeschooled, churched-at-home, having hardly any other friends and living in the same space 24/7 - we were absolutely everything to each other) and deep concern for their welfare, is what makes me hold on so tightly to keeping in contact with my family. Not an option 'till they tell me to my face that they never want to see or hear from me again. I pray that day never comes.

So how on earth amd I ever going to be able to explain to my siblings why The Father is not allowed to even TOUCH my kids?!? I don't want him holding them as babies or older, or holding their hand on a walk, or touching them to clean their face after dinner ... yuk!! It makes me feel sick just to think about it!

So as soon as the day (hopefully) comes when the hubby and I know we're going to have a child, that's the day we're going to have to confront The Father and tell him exactly where the lines are and what will happen if he crosses them.

And then what will happen?

F*ck them ***

F*cking bastard!
F*cking bitch!
F*ck them both!!!

This is exactly how I feel right now.
About both ... I can't even write how I am legaly related to them by blood ... thank God I have a different name now.

SPIT

Tears or laughter? ***Possibley triggering***

So much about my family-of-origin and the way they still choose to live their lives brings me a huge amount of pain, grief, triggers, anguish, desperation and worry.

I get exasperated at how blind my siblings are to the way things are and here, I am not talking about sexual abuse, which has, as far as I can tell, e confined just to myself, but to the constant emotional, spiritual and psychological abuse that we have all experienced in common. Apparently the sexual and physical abuse was the catalyst that sent me over the edge and out of that place - yes, I am at times (read: often) mildly to severely sarcastic.

As an example, The Bean Pole is soon to be nearer to 30 than 25, but still lives at and works from home, gives over the majority of any income that might happen to be earned to The Father, seeks his approval to any item of clothing bought and has to have his permission before going anywhere outside of the house.

HELLO?!?!?

Nope, to The Bean Pole and the other two siblings, this is "the right way to live", as has been dictated and handed down to them from The Father.

***Possible trigger ***

I recently threw out a skirt that I remember, so vividly, having to wear in front of The Father, while he scrutinized how far past my knees the hem came and whether or not it showed the shape of my bum in any way - no one was allowed to see anything that might possibly suggest that I, or my siblings, had bums or boobs - tut tut!! I had to go back and exchange it for the next size up, as the skirt "hugged me a little too tightly".
I so hated the size 20 t-shirts I was forced to wear, when in actual fact, I was a size 12-14, but no, the t-shirt must not go in EVEN A LITTLE between the nipple and the waist! And who inspected our boobs to make sure we were not "immodest"?!? Uh-huh, that one doesn't need an answer!
Ugh!! Creep!

***

Sometimes, however, despite your worries for the people you care about who are stuck in an unhealthy place, sometimes the way that place works is so flipping predictable, you have to laugh!

That or cry - or for me, not one to cry easily, a different expression ...

I think you can get into your new, healthier way of thinking and running your life that when you realise the way someone from your family of origin has acted, it hits you on the head and you have to go "Duh, of course! I should have known it would happen that way!!" Maybe it's just a constant false-hope that they are going to choose a healthy option?!

I had great hopes for a decision that I had, unusually, helped The Mother arrive at ... but of course, I found out today that it was conducted in the Family of Origins usual twisted way.

Duh!! What else did you expect?!?

So then it was laugh or cry. Thankfully the hubby helped me laugh.

Banging my head against the wall ...

Uh oh, it's nearly night again ...

Last night was an awful night, a truly awful night! I felt like it was never going to end and then, just when I had finally managed to fall asleep ... beep, beep, beep, my husband's alarm went off - oh joy, time to get up again!

I took such a very long time to get to sleep; had nightmares; woke up convinced there was a man (other than my hubby) in the room - actually saw the colours of his clothes! - only to screw up my eyes till all I could see was fuzz; was convinced I heard someone brake into our apartment building and took too long to reassure myself that there was no way that, if such an unlikely thing had happened in the first place, there any way they would be able to get into my double-locked 1st-floor apartment; I then took ages to get back to sleep again ... oh, hello, I need a pee! Whoopadoo!!

After my second pee of the night, I randomly decided to weigh myself and after being unreasonably irritated with the results, I stewed about it for another hour or two, before finally getting to sleep again ... and we're back at that annoying alarm ...

This is why I dread going to bed. I dread the nightmares. I dread the flashbacks. I dread not being able to sleep. I dread waking up terrified. I dread the dark. I dread not being able to see what's going on around me. I dread the feeling of being completely and utterly alone.

Yes, I know the man I love is sleeping right next to me, but for me, the night time has always held a dreaded fear; the certainty that I am completely alone; the knowledge that no one is out there; the sickening realisation that no one will answer my calls for help.

A little about me

I've realised there is really no context at all to my posts (the millions that there are of those of course! sarcastic laugh).

I have started reading a lot of blogs over the last couple of months, which has actually been helping a lot, because I am becoming aware of the huge number of people out there who have similar issues to me - ok, so I know that it's really sad that they have had to go through truama and be struggling with these issues in their daily lives, but going from feeling like you're the only one to realising you're not alone and not a complete psycho is a huge relief.

Every time I read a blog which has posts, but nothing about the author to give it any context or meaning; nothing to help me know if this person is on a journey to wholeness (whatever state that is for them) or simply ranting because they refuse to accept that they are in pain and need to seek help ... yup, this frustrates me. I can't read their blogs in the same way as I do the blogs whereI can have som sort of grounding or context to what is being said ... I feel a little like I am getting an incomplete picture.

On the one hand, I COMPLETELY understand the wish to not give eeryone out there the whole picture ... but on the other hand, there is a part of me that ends up thinking: "If you're out there on the internet, blogging anonymously, what's the difference? Why are you letting people in on your story unless you intend to tell the whole thing? I completely understand not being ready to do that, but then, don't blog!!

So to cut a long story and a huge amount of justification about my feelings short ... I'm going to 1) do an "About Me" page and 2) tell my story/experience/context ... this 2nd thing might be a little confusing or bitty, but that comes from the wish not only to protect my own identity, but also the identity of my siblings, the majority of which know nothing of the core-happenings of my family-of-birth.

It may take a few days, but soon you will see an "about me" page! I hope this will help any readers of this blog, not trigger or hinder them.

Lots of lovely thoughts,
Me

Loosing Control

Control is a wiered thing. Therapists say that an Eating Disorder is a way that we try to gain control of some aspect of our lives, and that at that point, food is the only thing we can control.

Well, as any of you wo have suffered from an ED know, it so very quickly changes from you having control over your body and your food, to the ED having control over you.

I so desperately hate the way I miss-use food, but I seem so powerless to stop it.

What is more sad, is that the more days I manage to go without binging-and-purging, the less "in control" I feel.

Right now there are so many things in my life that seem so way out of my control. It freaks me out.

Yes, I want to stop the whole Bulimia thing becuase it's a pain in the arss, because I think it's disgusting, because I loath myself every time it happens and because I want to "get better" for my husband, but you know what the ultimate driving force is at the bottom of wanting to leave Bulimia behind?

Because I want go back to Anorexia.

There, I've said it. It's not that I want to have a healthy relationship with food (though goodness knows there are times when I long for that!), it's that I still have this overwhelming, infiltrating desire to be thin. To be tinner than everyone else. To be thinner to those tat have been held up to me as an icon of perfection. (I don't mean models or celebrites in this case, I mean people I know, family members).

So I weighed myself for the first time in ages this morning. I'm within a few points of my BMI being in the underweight range. Bearing in mind my struggles with alcahol, this made me quite happy and encourages me to keep perservering with not having Bulimic episodes and not eating more than I can help the rest of the time.

I have ended up having a 5 week break from any kind of therapy or support relationship (something which scares the shit out of me) and I admitt - I'm planning on being as noticabley thinner as I can possibley manage, before I see anyone who will "see it" again.

I'm seriously loosing control over here.

Pain

Pain.

Showing in the jutting ribs.

Loosing pounds on the scales.

Turning away the plate of salad.

Pain.

Showing in the sleepless nights.

The angry tears over a cancelled evening out.

Being scared of a group of friends.

Pain.

Showing in the stumble across the floor.

The last drops drained from the glass.

The hazy oblivion to the reality of the minute.

Pain.

Showing in the sharp edge of the knife.

The hidden marks on the arm.

The blood seeping out into a puddle on the skin.

Mirrors

Mirror reflects, mirror distorts,

What's in my head, or what's in yours?

Who is right, who is wrong?

If you can't see, why shouldn't I?

If it's in my head, and I don't tell,

Then who can say, it's right or wrong?

If it's something that only, I can see,

Then how can you say no, because you can't?

If you can see a girl who cares,

Then I can see a girl who hates,

If you can see a girl that wants the best

Then I can see a girl who wants the worst,

For you trying I see lazy, your honest, lying,

For your success I see failure, your knowledge, ignorance,

For your moving forards, I see moving backwards,

For your strength, I see weakness, your winning, loosing,

When you tell me you think, my decision was brave,

The reflection I see, laughs at a coward,

The choices I take, that tell you I still want to live,

Tell me I haven't yet thought, of a way to die,

When you see a mother and daughter, hand in hand,

I see me reaching for mine, and her not replying,

When you see a father laughing, with his little girl,

I see the pain that mine brought me, when I just wanted love,

When you see a girl laughing, I see myself crying,

When you see a girl skipping, I'm running away,

The happy chatter you hear, echoes as screaming,

The smiles that you see, trickle as tears down my mirror,

If you see white, and I see black,

Is it really grey, or is one of us wrong?

If one bit is wrong, then can nothing be right?

Can many good things, make one bad turn white?

When you see light, I see dark,

When you see day, I see night,

When you see dreams, I see nightmares,

When you see hope, why can't I?

If I take the truth, and smash my mirror,

Will that make me see, wat you see in yours?

If I take the truth, move from night to day,

Will the shadows vanish, will I see hope?

If for a minute, my mirror was a window,

And if for a minute, you could see what I see,

Would that change my shadows, into light for a while?

Would a smile for a minute, be a smile for me too?

Uphill

I have always held much-used phrases in a certain amount of contempt. Catch-phrases, quips, sayings ... any over-used string of words which gets reeled out at a moments notice without any apparant thought on the part of the speaker. They're corny, cheesy, largely irrelevant to the topic, often insensitive to the situation, sometimes hurtful and confusing for the person at which it is aimed ... but often holding a good deal of truth and sometimes a not insignificant amount of wisdom.

I still try to avoid using these phrases and sayings as a general rule and particularly if I'm talking with someone who is struggling with something. Sometimes, however, an occason will arise when a particular phrase is perfect, or a saying will come to mind and I will be struck with the validity of what it is trying to convey.

This is just such an occasion and just such a saying.

Many things in life are an uphill struggle. Especially, it seems, the things which are particularly worth fighting for - and fighting for hard. It really does feel like you are walking uphill on a day when you have very little energy.

For me - and I'm guessing for most of you out there fighting a similar battle - trying to stop the relentless cycle of eating and throwing up is a constant struggle of trying to push a heavy rock at least 4 times your size up a very steep mountain. Maybe add a humid climate, summer tempretures and midday sun to the scenario and the picture is starting to look scarily realistic.

It often feels impossible. To use another well-worn but equally perfect phrase it is genuinely a case of one step forward and two steps back. Or maybe take off the one step forward part.

I start off with good intentions ... and then slip up again. I had a bad run of three days in a row, made new resolves, got through two days without being sick ... and then once again I was kneeling on the bathroom floor, clutching my toothbrush and demanding angrily of myself why I had done it - yet again.

I have many excuses in answer to my demands. I also have a reasonable number of ligitimate reasons which I know to be very real causes for what has now been all too long a daily struggle. But neither excuses or legitimate reasons can be allowed to stop me from reaching a goal which I AM going to get to - never again binge-eating and throwing up.

I don't know how long it's going to take to get there or how many times I'm going to mess up along the way, but I'm going to get there.

A Piece of Glass

If I reached out my hand,

I'd be able to touch it, feel it,

If once I touch it, I'd know it was real,

I could not pretend any more,

If I shut my eyes and screw them up,

If I think very hard of something else,

If I drink enough to forget for a while,

Then I can pretend for a moment it's just a dream,

A dream I dreamt a long time ago,

A memory of something which doesn't exist,

Pictures of an event that never happened,

A reality that's twisted beyond what could ever be,

If I breath out deeply I have to stop,

And look at the mist that hangs in the air,

Hangs in between me and my mind,

Stops me from touching the things that I see,

My breath is a mist on a piece of glass,

It lets me see, it lets me look,

But keeps inside so I can't touch,

Helps me pretend it isn't there,

It's like knitting a jumper without any wool,

Baking a cake without any flour,

Drawing a picture without any paper,

Learning to fly when you don't have wings,

If you don't have a magnifier you can't see the spot,

If you don't have a watch you can't tell the time,

If you don't have a dictionary you can't find the word,

If I can't touch the picture I can't know it's real,

A crack is forming round the edge of the glass,

Round the edge of my mind it's showing colour,

Red is staining my black and white,

The nightmares in my head are becoming real,

If I crack the glass there's no protection,

If I crack the glass there's no pretending,

If I crack the glass I'll feel it's real,

If I crack the glass I'll be living the nightmares,

As I punch my fist, through the glass wall of protection,

The canvas becomes flesh, the paint becomes blood,

The pieces of glass from my picture of pretence,

Mark fresh paths of blood across the scars on my arm,

The glass must be broken, the nightmares be lived,

The painting become live, the truth be known,

I must feel the pictures, know them in the daylight,

I must watch the trickle of blood and touch what is real.

Starting again - again

As I'm kneeling on the bathroom floor with my head over the toilet, hoping that this won't be the time one of my flat-mates finds out about my eating habits, the over-familiar feeling of failure rushes over me and threatens to make me gag much more effectively than the toothbrush I'm sticking down my throat.

Why am I here again? What happened to bring me to this point - again? Why couldn't I stop myself? Where did my determination and self-control go? Where did my resolve not to let this happen again run off to? Why do I even think this is a remotely good idea?

I can't stay there forever. At some point my body runs out of energy to carrying on throwing up, despite my desperate attempts to make sure that every last bit of food is gone - beyond the chance of giving me even a few extra calories. Once again I'm cleaning up, brushing my teeth, avoiding meeting my own eyes in the mirror - too ashamed of what I've just done to face even myself.

Facing myself is exactly what I have to do right now. Again I have to look at myself, admit that I hate myself and hate what I'm doing - and admit that I have to start again from the beginning.

Another all too familiar feeling rushes over me - the feeling you get on Day Zero. The first day of a long, up-hill struggle. The first day of a battle with no forseeable end that you know in your gut will likely come crashing in on you 1, 2, maybe 10 days later, bringing you right back to Day Zero and starting again - again.