Broken.

So, it’s been a while..

I’m just sort of drifting through life at the moment. I guess I haven’t posted because I try not to think about things anymore. Every time a troublesome thought comes in to my mind, I can physically feel myself pushing it to the back..

It helps me get by but it means I become easily overwhelmed or stressed. Even something simple like knowing I need to take something to the post office causes me to feel unnecessarily stressed; as though it’s something majorly difficult & I have a lot on my plate.

My biggest concern at the moment is my physical health.

I am in unbearable amounts of discomfort & pain. I feel overly uncomfortable at all times & so cripplingly weak.

As many of you know, I am physically sick every day due to conditions such as Gastroparesis, however, I know this is something more than that. Even my GP & gastroenterologist have said it is.

I have been seeing GP’s for more months than I care to imagine, trying to explain my pain.. to the point I just stopped going & have just put up with the agony.

But it’s just getting worse.

I went to see the now permanent GP at my surgery (finally, they’ve found one!) & for the first time, someone actually took notice. Someone actually did something.

She referred me to a rheumatologist & neurologist as my knees are crippling; they click & grind every time I move them & have become unbearably painful. In addition, she was concerned about my uncontrollable shaking & weakness; particularly in my arms. Not to mention the fact I am highly susceptible to the cold & often get so cold that it causes pain & is very difficult for me to warm up. I also lose grip in my hands regularly & my joints cease up in the most unnatural of positions. She said there’s been signs something is wrong for months, if not years, due to my blood results & was bewildered that nothing had been done.

So, after months of pain, I saw the rheumatologist yesterday & she is sending me for endless tests; an EMG (muscle test), an ultrasound of my hands, an MRI of my knees, a bone density scan (to see if my osteoporosis has progressed any further) & a lengthy list of blood tests.

However, I didn’t feel she particularly believed me. It’s so hard to explain how I feel because I literally feel discomfort & pain everywhere (although, mainly in my arms & knees). She continuously said; but where is the pain specifically? & other than those two main areas, I desperately tried to explain to her that it literally was everywhere.

& that makes me feel like I’m lying, like it can’t be true. I feel as though everyone thinks it’s in my head; I look fine, so I must be fine – right? But I know I’m not fine. I know I can feel it. Even doctors examinations have shown I’m not fine. I’m not like a ‘normal’ 25 year old.

It is restricting me in every area of my life. All I want to do is stay in my house & hide because I just can not bare to move. Obviously, I don’t. I get up. I get ready. I volunteer. I go to uni. I help out around the house. I cook for my parents. I try. I try my hardest every day. I push myself to the brink.

I rarely complain when I’m in pain; although becoming more frequent as the pain becomes more and more unmanageable.

Yet, even my family don’t seem to truly appreciate how debilitating it is. I’ll say ‘I’m in a lot of pain today’, ‘I’m struggling with this’ – yet, they’ll still say ‘oh but can you just do this?’ & ‘can you just do that?’

No. No I can’t.

But I do. It’s going to push me to my absolute limit, if not further & cause me immense amounts of difficulty, discomfort & in most cases; pain. But I do it.

Why? Why should I have to?

Can you not take my word for it that I am in agony? That every time I do that ‘little’ something for you, or even for myself, that I just want to fall to the ground & drift away.

Why, when I ask you to do help me, do you say ‘I’m not doing that’ or roll your eyes or huff.

Please help me.

There are days I feel like I could take my last breath at any moment. As dramatic as that sounds.

I am struggling. I am scared. I am weak.

Please help me.

You get sick of me repeating myself? Of saying how much something hurts?

Then please, help me.

Listen.

Understand.

Sympathise.

It is destroying my life. It is destroying me. My body is broken. I am broken.

I shouldn’t have to wish that these tests would come back with something serious, just so that for once, people would realise. Yet, at the same time, be so terrified that my life is over before it’s even begun.

WHAT CAN I SAY TO MAKE YOU HEAR ME? TO MAKE YOU SEE ME?

Please, help me..

Before there is nothing left to help but a broken, lifeless shell on the ground.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

I Think the Train Turned Out the Lights

Anyone who reads my blogs knows my posts are often negative with a smidge of positivity at the end – like a little light at the end of the tunnel.

But I don’t see that light anymore.

Tonight I took an overdose & as a follow up to that my Mum stated I manipulate her.. which all in all made me feel like I am just like those that abused me.

(Like you saying you aren’t coming to the hospital with me isn’t an attempt to manipulate me)

I already felt like one of them because of my traits, personality & self harm mechanisms. I already relate to them. Why do you think I despise myself so much?

Every inch of my being I just want to rip off my bones.

So to make that feeling better.. you suggest I mentally abuse you. I manipulate you.

So I guess that proves I’m right. I am as bad as them.

I am a product of their creation.

The only thing keeping me on this Earth was the off chance that maybe I am a decent human being. Maybe I didn’t deserve this. Maybe I’ll have my happily ever after.

But I despise them.

& if I’m even a quarter of the people they are then I do not want to be on this planet.

I do not want to hurt others the way they hurt me. Damage others the way they damaged me.

This wasn’t even the reason for the overdose; purely the aftermath.

The reason for the overdose is that I am stuck. I am stuck in this never ending hell, with a cinema in my mind replaying the images, the sound effects, the horror scenes on an hourly loop.

The thing is, nobody even realises. Nobody even notices when the image of a mans genitals, a man closer to me than anyone would think, flashes up in my mind. When the sounds of dirty laughter and pride echoes in my ears. When the moment they took away every part of me that felt joy and laughter and dignity and innocence and human, torn from my very soul, sends overwhelming feelings of emptiness, fear and despair through my whole body.

Nobody notices.

Yet when I do something out of character or when I try to hurt myself or even end my life… people get angry. They make it out as though I’m trying to hurt them. They make it out as though I am just like the man that abused me.

Huh?

I’d like you to spend one second in the shoes of someone that has to envisage all of those scenes and hundreds more, of the one man in the world they have always yearned for and loved unconditionally.

Because those are the shoes I wear every day.

I don’t know if there’s a future for me anymore.

It’s true that you’re alone in this world.

But I don’t like being alone.

I was alone my whole childhood.

I guess I have to work out if I’m strong enough to keep fighting this. If I’m strong enough to face it all on my own. Because I can’t talk to anyone now.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

Ok, so…

I’m going travelling!

Am I excited?

Am I petrified?

Who knows! But it’s booked so it looks like it’s inevitable!

After 4 years of university, a messy breakup, my estranged father almost dying.. I think I deserve to do something for me, right?

In June 2019, I’ll be setting off to Italy..

Tuscany

Lake Garda

Rome

Venice

You name it, if it’s Italian, it’s likely I’ll be going there!

Don’t get me wrong, I am absolutely terrified & will most likely have 79 panic attacks before I go but right now, I’m pretty damn excited.

I think it’ll be good for me. To push myself. To face all my demons in one swift shot & beat them whilst having the time of my life.

Naturally, I have a zillion worries..

Will everyone I meet hate me?

Will I get kidnapped like a scene from Taken?

Will I be judged for being physically unwell?

I DON’T CARE!

I can do this.

I’m going to do this.

It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember & I’m ready to live it.

My advice to you, dear reader – whatever it is, go for it!

You are enough.

You are strong.

You are brave.

Chase your dreams & stop just surviving.. actually start living!

Because no one will hand you your dreams.

In this awful, scary, lonely time you are facing.. grasp it with both hands.. & beat it!!

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

Raped.

Raped.

I was raped.

It’s taken me 21 minutes to type those words through blurred vision and trembling hands.

I can’t tell you who by.

And that makes me feel like a liar.

All I know is the flashbacks I am experiencing as a form of PTSD.

I can tell you I was a child and I can tell you it was in a car.

I can tell you my skin feels as though it’s covered in dirt and my most personal body parts hurt from the feel and image of what happened.

But I can’t tell you much more than that.

The thing is, seen as I had blocked it out for all these years, when I remembered last week; it felt as though it had just happened that day.

I feel like I’m experiencing things as if I was only raped last week.. it’s all new to me.

Because of that, I don’t know how to handle it.

So what do I do?

Ask for help of course.

As I knew I was seeing the psychologist to be offered counselling anyway, I figured I’d wait a few days.. a few gruelling, distress filled days.

In those days I scrubbed my skin raw for several minutes in the shower. In those days I felt the inside of my skull physically going insane. In those days I hated every ounce of myself and my appearance. In those days I questioned every man I’ve ever known; even the ones I’m surrounded by now and I cannot look at them the same – what if it was you?

In those days my Mum started off understanding; shocked, but understanding. Most of all she was loving and caring and affectionate.

Toward the end of those days my Mum’s love and affection decreased as anger set in.

I know she is angry at the situation. She is angry she didn’t save me. But I also know, deep down, she is angry that I am putting her through yet another thing when she is already so tired. She is angry at who did this to me.. but she is angry at me, too.

So.. the end of those days came. I had my 7 minute appointment. I sat in front of the psychologist and I told her I am terrified; literally terrified. Everywhere. I don’t even feel safe in my house.

I’ll give you a few of her responses:

‘Most people with Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder experience sexual or physical abuse in childhood and they make the decision to just get on with it’

‘Well, you’re not really doing anything at the moment so it’s not surprising you’re reacting this way‘ Dicsclaimer: It is school holidays so I have no uni or work.

‘If you need support, you’re going to have to seek that elsewhere. It isn’t something we offer here’

Great.

I waited those days. I scraped through those days. For nothing. You aren’t going to help me.

Why?

Do you not want to help me because you think it was my fault, too?

Do you think I’m lying?

So, here I am. Alone again.

And I’m still experiencing ‘those days’.

Nobody understands.

Nobody understands how terrified I am every waking and even sleeping moment.

Everyone says ‘I don’t know how to help; what do you want me to do?’

So I tell them.. love me, comfort me, protect me.

And then I speak of how I’m feeling and they get angry and I say ‘you’re getting angry’ and they revert back to ‘I don’t know how to help; what do you want me to do’ and so the process starts again..

So here I am.

Telling you what I need you to do:

LOVE ME

COMFORT ME

PROTECT ME

HEAR ME

BELIEVE ME

To my Mum.. I know you are tired. I know. I know my conditions and my dramas are what’s made you so tired. I know. I am being independent. I am spending 21 hours of the day coping alone because I know you need a break. But can you really not even handle me for 3 hours? Do you resent me that much? Have I worn you down so far you can’t even spend 3 hours with me 7 days after I remember a rape?

Why am I expected to get up and get on when I feel like I was only raped 7 days ago.

7 days.

If I really had only been raped 7 days ago I would be surrounded with love and comfort and reassurance.

Where is that now?

I’m still trying to process the feeling of my private areas being ripped apart. Of my hair being pulled and inappropriate things being forced inside me and my mouth. Of my ankles being held down and my arms being pinned to the car seat. Of the sound of a trouser zipper which still rings in my ears and makes me feel sick to my stomach.

I was raped.

I

was

raped.

Why do you doubt I won’t get up and get on and get over this? Why do you feel you have to tell me that’s what I need to be doing? Isn’t that what I’ve always done?

And sure as hell, I’ll do it again.

But right now, I am processing and that process is destroying me.. not forever, but for now.

I just need your love, support, understanding and reassurance right now.

So when I tell you how I feel and you get angry, maybe assess that your daughter, your granddaughter, your friend, has just been raped. And someone saying how they feel due to rape is not something to be mad at.

Being tired, worn and fed up of the same old drama and the ongoing nightmares I bring is something to be mad at. So address that.

I do not blame you for resenting me. Even for not liking me.

People act like I’ve changed when I repeat myself and need reassurance when in reality, I’m the best I’ve been in 9 years.. I don’t have screaming/ crying fits anymore, I can actually be left now and do things on my own, i don’t hear voices.. so maybe it’s not me that’s the problem; maybe it’s you,

So maybe address that rather than telling me to do one thing and then getting angry/ not paying attention when I do. It is confusing and makes me worse.

One day I will be rid of all this sh#t and you will be rid of me.

No one wants to help me? Fine.

I can do this on my own.

I will do this on my own.

You will see me living a life where all the reason for all this heartache is evident.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

Nowhere to Run

I did everything you told me to do.

I distracted myself.

I tried to speak to you.

And now I am sat on this bench, in the middle of this field, staring at a packet of tablets and balling my eyes out to the MH unit receptionist begging her to save my life.

Once again you have let me down when I needed you.

I didn’t want you to leave work. I didn’t want you to dash and find me.

I wanted a few words of comfort. Of reassurance. Just a few words.

Am I not even worth a few words?

That would have been all I needed.

But all you did was have a go at me.

Sorry I didn’t time my breakdown for a more convenient time.

Turns out my life isn’t important to anyone, least of all me.

So what’s the point?

I’m done.

I’m not safe anywhere anymore.

I have no one.

The Halls of Hell

As I write, through blurred vision and filled up eyes, I can honestly say I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life.

I am trying so hard every damn day.

It’s a battle just to breathe, just to breathe one breath without the overwhelming, consuming, debilitating heartache in not only my chest but my very core.

The truth is, I have been alone for many months.

Ever since my Dad came back in to my life in the most unbearable way; he suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm and I had to make the decision to see him for the first time after he abandoned me for ten years, or risk never saying the words I needed to say as it was very possible he would die.

On top of that, my partner at the time who I had spent five years of my life with, decided that was the ideal time to start the long and painful process of breaking my heart.

As if it wasn’t broken already.

As if I didn’t need him then more than ever before.

A few months later and the flashbacks set in. Flashbacks of sexual abuse. Flashbacks that make me feel disgusting. Grubby. Dirty. Tainted.

It doesn’t matter how many times I wash, how many times I push those memories to the back of my mind, how many times I smile and laugh and act as everything’s fine; that dirt, those stains, will never leave my skin.

‘You’re not like other kids Sally, that’s why these things are happening to you’

Was I not like other teenagers too? Is that why my Dad gave up on me?

Was I not like other young women too? Is that why the only boy I ever truly let in gave up on me?

I feel like I am nothing. Worth nothing.

Nothing to anyone.

Not good enough.

Never, ever enough. For anyone. No matter how hard I try.

Almost a year on and sure, I get up every day. I smile every day. I make jokes. I get up, I get on, I fight.

But the fight is becoming impossible.

I am so, impossibly lonely.

Sure, I am trying to get back out there.

I go out and I meet people and I talk to people.

But when it comes to men? Truth is, I just can’t be bothered.

I’ve lost hope in man as a species.

I’ve met some lovely, kind hearted people these past few months and they’ve made me feel like I could be worth something again. But it only ever lasts a few hours.

When the dust settles and the darkness creeps in and I am alone; I am alone.

It’s so lonely losing your partner in life and your best friend. Your soulmate.

What only adds to that sense of loneliness is when they have let you down. When they have stripped away every part of you that made you sparkle.

When you are reminded a star is only ever really a rock.

I’m sure one day I will find happiness again; who knows, I might even be happier.

I know there had to be more out there than the life I was living. That’s why I made this choice. I want more. I deserve more.

I’ve gone through too much, survived too much, to settle for anything less than someone who wants to fight for me. Fight tooth and nail because they believe they are lucky, truly lucky, to have me..

.. whether that be a boyfriend, Dad or friend.

I know I’m not really alone. I know I have family that love me.

But my Mum does this thing where she ignores me and if I’m honest, that makes me feel like I am nothing.

I don’t blame her of course, I go on.. and on.. and on.

And she has to pick up the pieces every day.

I would turn me off too if I could.

But oh my, does it hurt.

I wouldn’t even mind if she could just own up to it, embrace it.. yes rainbow, I do ignore you and I’m sorry.

But instead she makes out it’s all in my head. Tells me people are doing their best and it’s hard for them as if I don’t know. As if I’m saying nobody ever does anything for me.

No, I’m just saying it hurts when you ignore me.

But of course, that’s my fault too.

And of course, you’re now in that mood where you antagonise me deliberately.

All I need is for you to hold me and say you didn’t mean it and make it okay.

Because you are my one person in this world and when you do what all those others do. What those people did to me all those years ago. Making me feel like it’s in my head, like I’m unimportant and irrelevant. Like I deserve to be hurt because of the way I am.

Only then do I truly feel like nothing.

Because it’s only then that I feel like all I ever do is hurt others and all they ever do is their best for me. Like I am the enemy. Like I am evil.

And only then do I feel like maybe those people were right all those years ago.

And when the people I love most in the world hurt me and make me feel like it is my fault.. my Dad, my partner and even my Mum and family at times.

That’s when I convince myself I am not a victim. I was not ever a victim. I am instead a comeuppance.

Living and lived the fate I deserve.

I am nothing.

To anyone.

Not truly.

I bring nothing.

I give nothing.

But pain.

And what do those who bring and give pain deserve?

What is their comeuppance?

A fate worse than death.

And that is why, that is why at times death feels like the only option to me.

That is why I sit in the psychiatry appointment and I hear the doctor tell me I am a victim. It is not my fault. And I don’t, I can’t, ever believe him.

Because if this is not my comeuppance. If this is not the life I deserve. Why do these things keep happening to me?

Why is every happiness taken from me?

I am trying.

I am faking and I am pretending and I am fighting.

But even the devil asked me how I know my way around the halls of hell.

‘I told him I did not need a map for the darkness I know so well’

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

My Reason Why

My goodness, I didn’t anticipate how hard this would be.

Well, actually, that’s a lie. I never could imagine my life without you; just thinking about it caused me pain. However, I never truly understood just how much pain, as I never thought I’d have to actually feel it one day.

The fact it was me that called it a day makes me feel as though it’s my fault. Did I do enough? Did I try hard enough?

But then I have to remind myself that even now, you are not fighting for me. Even now that I have called an end on our 5 and a half year relationship, our 12 and a half year friendship.. you still don’t want to try.

I guess that tells me all I need to know.

Silence speaks a thousand words.

Even though you haven’t really tried for nine months, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I still love you with every living inch of my being.

I still miss you more than I ever thought possible.

When will every single thing stop reminding me of you?

Will I ever get through my day again without things as simple as cooking a meal, reminding me of a memory of you?

Right now it doesn’t feel like it.

You were my companion, my best friend, my safety net, my life for almost 13 years.

I don’t feel safe anywhere anymore.

My past, my present and my future feels empty now; vacant.

Everything I’ve worked so hard for is gone.

Everything I believed in has been taken from me.

So who am I now?

Who am I without you?

I’ve been part of a team for so long, I don’t know how to be on my own.

Will I ever feel happiness again? Will I ever learn to love again?

Will I ever stop loving you?

I want to, so much.

But right now, in this very moment, I am more alone than ever.

You were my family, you were my friend, you were my home.

It didn’t ever matter where I was, how I was feeling, what I was facing; so long as I had you.

I know now I must find out who I am without you. But you were my childhood, my adolescence and my adulthood.

How could you? How could you take all my dreams away from me?

Why wasn’t I enough?

I loved you endlessly. I would follow you anywhere. I would carry you for eternity.

What more could you ever need?

We had it all.

Our love was limitless. Our love was one of a kind. So why?

Wasn’t I pretty enough?

Is it my health?

Because I was this way when you fell in love with me, worse in fact.

Did you ever really love me at all?

How long has my life been a lie?

I have so many questions that I know you’ll never answer.

I’ve never felt like I am enough. I wasn’t for a lot of my family, for friends. But I always believed I was enough for you.

Will I spend the rest of my years never truly being enough?

I’m so alone and I’m frightened.

I’ve never been okay on my own.

It’s difficult being alone with someone you despise.

I liked who I was when I was with you. Only when I was with you.

And now I spend every moment in a body, a mind, I can’t stand.

Who is there to reassure me? Who is there to comfort me? Who is there to encourage me? Who is there to remind me I have worth?

I don’t know what’s real anymore.

I have to build a new life. New hopes, new dreams.

I have to let someone else in one day and I don’t know if they will ever really accept me.

I am so scared of the path that is now in front of me.

I don’t want to walk it alone.

I am stronger now. I know I can make it. I have to.

But if I had a choice, I would choose you every time.

You took all my choices away from me.

I couldn’t stay somewhere where you didn’t want to fight for me. For us. Where you didn’t want to try.

It wasn’t enough.

I need more.

There has to be more out there.

I’ll find it one day, won’t I?

‘Everything happens for a reason’.

I have to believe there is reason to this pain.

I’m sure, I know, one day I’ll look back on this and I’ll know why.

I’ll have something so precious that I will know, I will know why.

Until that day comes, I just have to keep fighting.

Take time to find myself.

Maybe even learn to like myself.

I can do this alone. I can do this without you.

For I am the woman you helped shape me to be.

You built me up with strength and courage and wisdom.

I will always remember you for that.

I will always look back on our time together fondly.

I will never, ever regret you. Or us.

I learnt so much from you about myself, about love, about life and for that I am grateful.

I was lucky to have loved a man like you.

I was lucky to have been loved by a man like you.

I was lucky to have known a love like we shared.

I may not ever find it again. But I don’t want to.

I will find something new, something different.

That will be my reason why.

Whether it be in work, in travel, in children, in romance, in friendship or even within myself.

That will be my reason why.

Love always,

Your Impartial Soul xo

I Need to Get Away..

Away from the town where my heart has been broken in to a thousand pieces.

Away from the fear of losing you & providing you with the opportunity to hurt me again, all at the same time.

Away from my mind that tells me it’s my fault, there’s something wrong with me, I’m too ugly, I’m too fat, I’m not good enough, I deserve this.

Away from my heart that tells me I can’t ever be with another man but you, my heart that tells me you are everything.

Away from the realisation that I am nothing to you.

Away from the tears on my cheeks which each represent every time you have let me down.

Away from the lack of cuddles I long for.

Away from the hope that there’s reason, meaning to this pain. Hope that you will love me again, the way you used to.

Away from the texts I never receive, the words I never, but long to, hear.

Away from the belief that you will make an effort, you will fight for me the way I’ve fought for you; but don’t.

Away from the silence full of words I need to say but can’t incase it pushes you any further away from me.

Away from the memories you share with me of the six months I longed to be part of your life but you wouldn’t let me.

Away from the memories I have of the six months where I wished for you, wished to smile, wished to feel warmth in my heart, wished to breathe without it hurting.

Away from the endless undelivered calls, texts, letters and emails I wrote every day but couldn’t send.

Away from my past where I spent twelve years of my life loving and wanting nothing but you.

Away from my future where I planned marriage, a home, children, a life – with you.

Away from my present where I have to try and rebuild something that I never broke.

Away from the prospect of never being able to forgive and having to be strong enough to find a way of living without you.

Away from the chance you could do this again.

Away from the fact you had the ability to cause me such ongoing, agonising pain.

Away from the nightmares, because you took away the only place I’ve ever felt safe.

Away from myself, the person I have grown to hate through all this.

Away from the rejection of my best friend.

Away from this stranger that I don’t know anymore.

Away from the loss of everything I ever believed in, the loss of the only truth I ever held in my life, the loss of my hopes and dreams.

Away from this bedroom, this bed that I shared with you.

Away from the excuses that don’t really provide any worthwhile answers.

Away from pretending that everything’s normal, that it’s okay.

Away from understanding when all I really want to do is make you see what you have done to me, that I am laying on this cold floor with torn clothes and I am empty and I am bruised and I am angry.

Away from this town where my heart has been broken in to a thousand pieces.

xo

Me or My Condition?

People always feel the need to make sure I’m aware of how lucky I am to have the support of those around me.

& I spend a lot of my time complaining that people always feel the need to do this because

1. I obviously know how lucky I am

2. I hate myself and feel guilty enough without the regular reminder

3. So I’m ill; does that mean people aren’t lucky to have me, too?

I’m particularly reminded of lucky I am to have my Mum – but do I ever really listen?

I mean, of course, I know it; I know I’m extremely lucky to have my Mum.

But do I ever really hear the true meaning of those words?

I believe my Mum is the only person that number 3 does not apply to; she is not lucky to have me and therefore, I’m now realising it is justifiable for people to constantly remind me how lucky I am because only right now as I have just been comforted by her following a panic attack am I truly realising just what those words mean.

What led to this epiphany, you ask?

The tone, the sadness, the weariness in her voice.

See, I have been fighting this fight for many, many years.

I have experienced relapses, suicide attempts, self harm, impulsive behaviours, emotional pain, memories of emotional sexual abuse, voices in my head, panic attacks, an array of sleepless nights, never ending pools of tears, a fear of everything, suffocation by overthinking and finally, a constant, mind numbing sadness.

But unlike most adults; I’ve not done it alone.

My selfless, undeniably kind Mum has experienced EVERY one of those moments with me.

She’s hugged away the pain I’ve felt, she’s battled pain herself whilst she’s seen me on the verge of death, she’s dried the tears I’ve cried, she’s listened to my outbursts, worries, paranoia, she’s talked me through my mistakes, fears, overthinking and finally, she’s fought this battle in addition to her own.

& now she is tired.

She is worn.

She has lost every bit of herself trying to be everything for me.

Here I am, sensing resentment, anger, frustration and sadness towards me and is it really any surprise?

She’s devoted 24 years of her life to be all that I need whether that be; a therapist, a nurse, a friend, a teacher when really, all she should ever have to be is a Mum.

She deserves far more than I am, more than I ever can be.

I’m 24 years old and I still sleep some nights with my Mum.

It’s guaranteed I’ll at the very least keep her up until the early hours, even when she has work the next day – I can’t stop myself.

I rely on my Mum for EVERYTHING because I have nothing of my own.

I am not an adult, I am a child.

I am a toddler who depends on their Mum for protection and safety.

Someone please tell me, is this something that comes with the repercussions of abuse?

Or is mental health just an extremely selfish place?

Yes, I’m thoughtful. Yes, I’d like to believe I’m kind.

But I can’t decide if it’s me, my personality, or the condition that is selfish.

Or is it in fact both?

Have I hurt my Mum more than I ever thought possible, or has my condition?

Is there a difference?

Am I the reason for the pain, the sadness in my Mum’s heart and eyes; or is my condition?

Aren’t we the same thing?

Is it me my Mum is growing to hate or my condition?

More importantly, when the condition is better managed; will the hate still be there?

Can I ever take back the years of her life I’ve stolen and broken?

Will she grow to her elder years and look back and regret the time she wasted caring for me?

What brings the most concern is that she may already regret having me all together.

I guess I’ll never truly know what she’s thinking; I do not reside in her brain.

But what I do know, what she can’t deny no matter how hard she try; the pain and sadness she feels.

How tired she is.

My beautiful Mum, you can try and hide it but I know you as well as you know me and all I can ever tell you is I am so, so sorry.

I’m sorry I’ve burnt out the most brightest sparks of your being.

I will be better, I will do better. I won’t rely on you to be anything other than a Mum. I won’t trouble you with my troubles long in to the night. I’ll be a grown up. I’ll be a 24 year old; I’ll learn to manage things. The way you do.

My condition may not think of you, but I always do Mum.

To anyone reading this post, I ask you to be aware of what your illness is doing to those fighting the battle alongside you. Try and give them a break just like they do you, but be mindful; it is not your fault.

I have to believe that, I have to.

Then maybe, just maybe. My Mum will respond with excitement again when I call her name and not a sigh.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

Followed by a Murderer

Today it is my physical health affecting me.

I don’t seem to get much sympathy or understanding about my physical health.. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had this condition so long it’s become ‘normal’ or if it’s because I appear okay on the outside.

I’m so weak that I am in unbearable pain. I’ve brought myself to bed, which in itself is unlike me, but even laying here hurts; it throbs and it aches. Even the underneath of my elbows ache right now as I write this laying in bed. I can feel the shooting pain from my finger tips as they hit the screen. I’m having to type slower than normal.

It’s as though gravity is pulling my whole body down to the ground with full force, if that makes any sense?

I don’t talk much about my physical health but I have a rare condition called Rumination Syndrome which means I involuntarily bring up every single thing I eat/ drink. It’s been that way for 5 and a half years now. Being physically sick 5+ times a day, every day, for 2311 days.

I now manage to keep my food down for up to 4 hours, however, when I do I am in excruciating pain and discomfort. Even after that time, due to my delayed gastric emptying/ slow gastric motility, my food still comes up as though it’s barely digested. I also have Gastroparesis.

Even so, I am obviously managing to keep some of it down as I am now a healthy weight (my lowest was 7st and I am 5ft7). So I guess because I appear healthier and nobody can see every bone in my body any more, that means I’m better, right?

Wrong.

I am still physically sick every day. I always say, if you are physically sick just once, you tend to take the day off work. I am physically sick every day 5+ times. I still go to volunteering, do my uni work and am expected to always get up out of bed; and I do.

---

---

Yet, if I say I feel unwell I just get a ‘oh dear’ and the subject is changed. However, if my Mum says she’s ill, or my Stepdad comes home knackered it’s ‘oh, what’s wrong!? Go to bed! Get some rest! Can I do anything for you?’

Now, considering I’m unwell every day, I would understand people getting bored of hearing it. However, I hardly ever say if I feel physically unwell. If I did, it’s all I’d ever talk about. I only ever say I feel unwell if I literally feel like my body can’t take anymore, if it feels like it’s going to shut down, if I feel like I might die.

And that’s no exaggeration.

On some rare days I am fearful I won’t pull though this never ending battle.

Every single day, I am aching, weak, tired. I don’t remember the last time I actually felt comfortable; even in bed.

Yet I don’t say a thing.

I get on with it.

As I’m now expected to.

I don’t know, maybe one day this illness will defeat me. It’ll kill me. Will my family then realise I have been followed by this murderer for 5 and a half years?

I know they worry.

But they don’t feel it’s affect on me.

I don’t even know if they can recognise it any more.

But I can.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo