I don’t see the point in me being in the city right now. I’m too unwell to see friends. I’m too unwell to play badminton, and don’t know if I can ever show my face there again after pissing my pants on the court. My physio doesn’t seem to want to see me until things settle down with my housing, which may take a while. I don’t have a job here. I basically don’t have a life here, and am just spending my days wasting away in bed. Without any structure I lose sense of what day it is. I am simply existing outside of time, no longer part of the world around me. Continue reading “Psychotic descent”
“Imagine living with a scream inside you.
And the scream is yours.
And no one else hears it.
That is grief.
Imagine living with a scream inside you—a scream that is yours alone.
It’s loud, it’s piercing, and it reverberates through every part of your being.
And yet, no one else hears it.
Grief can make the world feel so distant.
You might be in the middle of a conversation,
but your mind is elsewhere, caught in that scream.
What does a silent scream even sound like?
What would it sound like if someone else could hear it?
Perhaps it isn’t really a scream but a feeling
with sound, one so raw, so painful, so excruciating
that there are no words to describe it,
so it becomes a sound, a noise, a vibration
that rages through our entire body, screaming,
The scream of grief.”
– Author unknown
I spent most of my day in bed lethargic. The lethargy was actually a welcome relief from the restlessness and agitation that rips apart my insides every day and especially every night. I got a text from my dad thanking me for the various adventures we’ve been on together. It sounded like he was expecting one of us to die soon.
“Dear Zoe,” he wrote. “Thankyou for all the “adventures” you have taken me on ! Thanks for Philip Island, and taking you down there – to run away from the wretched police, and the stupid psychiatrist at Chandler House. Taping my torch on the back of my car, so you could follow in your car … Thanks too for taking me to see Margaret’s place, and her “church”. Thanks for checking out Bendigo, with me, and meeting Dr Julia Bourke… Thanks for “Wet & Wild” … rafting down the Yarra at Warburton. Thanks for inviting me to that place past Sale, where you stayed (with the woman who couldn’t stop talking), where I almost lost her dog, on one of my long walks. Yep, … we have been on some great adventures together ”
I didn’t know if the stress of seeing me suffer for so long, which has led me to isolate, no longer speak and lash out at him, was driving him to suicide. I didn’t know if he senses I am slipping away and may not make it through another year, or even to the end of this year. But tears welled in my eyes when I read that text. Continue reading “Losing things, OCD and more on dissociation”
“You were blessed by a different kind of inner view, it’s all magnifiedThe highs would make you fly, but the lows make you want to dieAnd I was once there, hanging from that very ledge where you are standingSo I know, I know, I knowIt’s easier to let go”
Missy Higgins, ‘Nightminds‘
When I was a child, my mother described me as a live wire. I had an inner motor that never ran out of fuel. I was constantly running, climbing, moving, bouncing off the walls, smacking people with balloons, rolling down hills, flying through the air on flying foxes, winding the rope swing which hung from our gumtree up until it couldn’t get any tighter and then sitting on it in great delight as it unwound and the world became a blur. When I look at photos of myself when I was about two my mouth would be open so wide that it reminded me of those laughing clown ball machines at carnivals. It looked like I was screaming, but if I was, it would have been out of sheer love for life. My eyes sparkled blue as the ocean. I really was, as s.c lorie @ butterfliesandpebbles wrote, the girl who had sunflowers for eyes and fireworks in her soul.
I barely slept, and didn’t need much sleep. My parents said that I was a wide-eyed child the minute I was born, as though thinking “wow! Isn’t this world amazing!”
My mum said that she would ask other parents if they thought her child was “normal”. I was a force of nature with the energy of a tsunami. One carer said she’d rather look after ten kids than one kid like me.
My mum blames my father for my hyperactivity. She said he was always tossing me around and putting me up trees. But I think it was just me. Continue reading “Bipolar”
I’d like to churn out one more post before I call it a night. This post is another song interpretation. This song is called “I Went Too Far” by Aurora, and it is my new favourite song and anthem right now.
This song is about being desperate for love. Love is a very human need, but some of us are so deprived of it that we will go to great lengths to get it. As a person with BPD (and a love addict), I relate so much to this song. One of the criteria for BPD is frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. That is what this song is all about. We throw away our dignity, begging for this person to show us some love and not leave us. Some people with BPD will go as far as injuring themselves as they are in so much pain and distress. This is what Aurora means when she says she “went too far”. I have at times scratched myself and tried to overdose right in front of people in attempts to get them to just acknowledge my humanity and give me care. It’s sad we have to go to this extent, but in a cruel, heartless world and a broken healthcare system often this is what it takes to get people to do something. Continue reading “I Went Too Far by Aurora”
hsphaven 