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

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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

The Brink of Everything

I feel like I’m at the brink.

The brink of losing my mind.

The brink of giving up volunteering and uni.

The brink of having a meltdown.

The brink of being admitted last night.

The brink of giving up on life.

I feel agitated, infuriated, sad and broken all at the same time.

I’m trying, my goodness am I trying.

Trying to persevere.

Trying to be positive.

Trying to stay strong.

Trying to love my life.

Trying to keep on trying.

But I don’t want to have to try anymore.

I want it to be natural. Easy.

Easy to smile.

Easy to enjoy moments in my day.

Easy to do normal, every day things.

Easy to be strong.

Easy to breathe.

One of the few positive things that does come naturally now is one of my skills I learnt in the process of DBT..

It’s called ‘Opposite Action’.

In theory, it means you do the opposite action (funnily enough!) to what your feelings are telling you to do.

See, there is supposedly an action for every emotion.

So for example..

For feeling sad, the action is to hide.

For feeling angry, the action is to lash out.

So if you were to do the opposite action..

When feeling sad, you would get up and active.

When feeling angry, you would implement strategies to remain calm.

Two of the biggest emotions I struggle with are sadness and guilt.

So when I feel sad, all I want to do is hide in my bed all day but instead I do the opposite action; I get up, washed and dressed every day.

When I feel guilty, all I want to do is hide whatever I feel guilty about and dwell on it but instead I do the opposite action; I confess what I feel guilty about to someone I can trust, usually my Mum.

This comes naturally to me now.

I’m so grateful it does.

Because that skill, that ability to always do the opposite action, means that I can keep on going.

It’s etched on to my brain now so that the majority of the time I do it without even thinking and when I do have to think about it, I know no matter how difficult, I must do it.

I am so, so thankful for that.

That mentality, to challenge and battle my most difficult emotions means that they can not defeat me. I will come out victorious.

How can something beat me, destroy and kill me, when I am fighting against it at equal or greater measure?

For it means I am stronger than my demons that challenge me. I have greater power than the weaknesses that grant me the title of the diagnosis ’emotionally unstable’.

Whereas before I learnt this skill I was at the lower end of the sea-saw, virtually hitting the ground whilst my emotions reached high in to the evening sky. I am now on an even keel. In fact, sometimes my emotions are the ones hitting the ground and I am the one reaching the sky above; except, this time there is daylight. The warmth of the sun rays are hitting my cheek.

I won’t pretend there still isn’t clouds in that sky because there is but there is sunlight, there is blue sky, there is hope.



So please, if you can find it within yourselves even during one meltdown of the week; do the opposite action.

I promise you it will begin to come more easily than the first attempt makes you believe.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

Anger Ball

Hello old friend,

We parted ways for a while,

I laid you at rest.

I discovered my demons and I conquered them.

But now you are back.

Because it turns out, the demons aren’t the things I’m fearful of at all; they are, in fact, the things I love the most.

The things that possess greatest ability to hurt me beyond words.

Should I fear those which are meant to keep me safe?

Are they more dangerous than my nightmares?

They certainly hold the most power.

You see, I’m fighting this tough fight every damn day.

I’m fighting the images in my head of the sexual abuse I endured and the disgust that comes with it.

I’m fighting the suicidal thoughts and thoughts to harm myself however possible.

I’m fighting feeling so deadly weak physically every single day.

I’m fighting my insecurities which rule me.

I’m fighting to breathe.

But the hardest of all those?

The hardest is fighting my family.

My family that are supposed to support me and understand no matter what.

‘It’s the way they were brought up’

‘They’re stuck in their ways’

No. That doesn’t cut it anymore. Not bloody good enough.

I just overheard my family discussing me, as I’m sure they always do, voicing their opinions.

Stating how I need to get back to work, get back to normality, find some independence.

See, I’ve taken some time off from volunteering and I’m on a break from uni until final year starts in April.

It’s all well and good having your opinions.

You may think you know what’s best for me.

I may appear fine on the outside.

But do you think my thoughts?

Do you feel my feelings?

Do you see my visions?

Do you manage my pain?

Do you realise that there are points in the day I have to remind myself to breathe?

Exhale, for the love of God, exhale.

Yes, opinions.

For sure, you are welcome to them.

But until you’re fighting my fight, until your facing my demons; keep them to yourself.

Can you not even try?

Try to not have an opinion but instead listen, listen to the words I am not saying. Listen to the pain in my eyes.. the heavy sigh when I hold that breath in just a little too long.

Why not distract yourself from your opinion with trying to understand. And if you can’t understand; trying to just be there.

Just be there.

No words, no advice, no opinions.

Just be there.

Endlessly and without question.

I will win this fight, just as I have every other. You’ve seen my victory; can’t you believe in my ability to overcome this too?

I’ve proven you all wrong time and time again, it’s just never good enough.

Oh ball of anger that resides in my chest and expands with every opinion,

Hello old friend.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

The Dodo Birds of Society



Did you know that the Dodo bird is an evolution of a badly lost flock of Pigeons? Something so common evolved in to something so rare it later became extinct..

How brilliant would it be if it had happened the other way around?

People whom understand or at least try and understand mental health (that are not sufferers themselves) are such an endangered species and unfortunately, in some sufferers lives, don’t exist at all; as though they’ve become extinct.

We need the evolution of the Dodo bird to happen in reverse within society. The rare (endangered species) of open minded people needs to evolve from a Dodo bird to a flock of Pigeons and within a matter of time they will be so common that everyone would feel welcome and confident in the universe. Wouldn’t that be perfect?

I may sound like I have gone a little off subject but actually, I feel it is of vital importance that before I continue with this blog, I mention just how lucky I am.

In previous posts, I pointed out that I was writing this blog anonymously. However, I have told two people of this blog and I know they will be reading this and my future posts. Those two people are my endangered species. Oh how lucky I am that they are not extinct.

I realise there is so many mental health sufferers out there whom face this journey alone, in a world of isolation where nobody understands, or even worse; doesn’t even try. I’m sorry to those people. I feel isolated even with being surrounded by an understanding family so I have no clue how alone and afraid you must feel and I won’t pretend to.

That being said, you are never alone as an mental health sufferer for you are surrounded by an infinite ocean of sufferers just like you. Please, especially if you feel alone; seek help.

I mentioned my understanding family. That may be a slight exaggeration.

I have an incredibly thoughtful, kind, warm hearted best friend. She has the most beautiful, caring soul I have ever encountered.

As well as her, I have my beautiful, inspirational Mum. She is everything I aspire to be in life.

They may not fully understand what I’m going through but they pretend they do. They put aside their own pain and thoughts to always make sure I feel safe, understood and part of a team. I can not begin to imagine how it feels to watch me go through such suffering and to still be completely selfless and pretend they’re not suffering themselves. They always say I am so strong to be the one going through it but I believe they are far stronger than I.

These kind of people are extremely rare (an endangered species) and I am so utterly blessed to have not one, but two of them in my life.



My other friends? I don’t believe I have any. Not really. I care for people, yes, far more than I will ever care about myself and before this illness, would I have counted them as my friends? Yes, always. It’s only with time that I have come to learn that people that don’t ask how you are, even when they know you are ill, even if they don’t understand, aren’t really friends you need at all.

I believed I had a loving boyfriend whom understood and would always protect me and keep me safe from the dangers in this world. However, after five years of being in a relationship with him and twelve years of friendship; I have seen him 4 times in almost seven months, not at all for the past three. He puts this down to the fact he has always been on his own due to not being able to share his troubles with me because of my health.

How dare he.

It makes me so angry! I have never done anything other than love him and ensure he knows he is never alone. Yes, I have put him through some extremely difficult times due to my health but for over three years now I have worked on nothing other than being stronger and ensuring I am in a far better situation. And I am.

Surely he can see that?

I thought he was my soulmate, my one person in life I could always be completely comfortable around.

I guess people change.

But it’s killing me inside and I have this overwhelming sense of anger. Anger that he can hurt me this way after twelve years. Anger that I have poured my heart out to him on several occasions, anger that I’m fighting tooth and nail to keep us together yet he’s giving nothing back; he’s blocked me on all forms of social media. Why am I still in this ‘relationship’?

Because although I am surrounded by a lack of Dodo-evolved pigeons, it doesn’t stop me from loving them and feeling pain from their lack of affection.. I wish I could just switch off my humanity.

If they can’t handle me at my worst do they really deserve me at my best? 

I’m okay just having my Mum and my best friend. It’s hard but I’m extremely fortunate.

That being said, I never feel good enough for them. This illness makes me feel like I destroy their lives. I know they do it because they love me and yes, it’s their choice but it certainly isn’t mine. I don’t want this, especially not for them. They deserve far more than my suffering.

One thing I always hear? ‘You’re so lucky to have your Mum, she’s amazing’. I know. It’s all I ever hear. Do you not think I’m aware how bloody incredible she is? I couldn’t do it. I know. I am forever in her debt – I certainly don’t need you reminding me. I feel guilty enough.

No one ever says to the loved ones of a mental health sufferer; you’re so lucky to have (mental health sufferer in question). Why aren’t they lucky to have me? My illness doesn’t define me; I’m a decent person. Aren’t I?

I also have a group of close family members. They try to understand but they don’t. Whether that be due to the way they were brought up or their beliefs or their understanding on life. They can try but it isn’t enough. They still make their comments, assumptions and judgements. I love these family members but at times they infuriate me.

‘They try their best’. I know. But sometimes their best simply isn’t enough.

And on that note, I wish everyone surrounding me was a Dodo bird evolving in to a Pigeon.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

DITCH The Label!


May I just begin by saying I hope I don’t offend with this post, that is far from my intention and I have the upmost respect for all of you and your choice to live the life you believe in..


BUT

I THINK I’VE SOLVED THE CASE OF ACHIEVING WORLD PEACE!

Well, at least in the wars surrounding the media at the moment.


Imagine a world where we erased the titles of gender all together and simply became people.

A world where we do not identify as male or female.

We are just living, as one, equally.


There’d be no need to define your sexuality as different labels would no longer exist.

You wouldn’t fall in love with a man or a woman, with someone of an opposite or the same sex.

You would just fall in love, with whoever your heart wanted to fall in love with.

Your mind wouldn’t even have to come in to play.

Other people’s opinions wouldn’t matter/ exist.

You would just be happily, hopelessly in love with your soulmate, just as they are.

& they would feel the same, just as you are.


There’d be no inequality in the workplace when it comes to things such as wages as there wouldn’t be the option to pay a man higher than a woman or vice versa as you wouldn’t be able to decipher which is which.

As everyone would be the same, as one, equal.


Harassment and sexual abuse on women (and men, but for the sake of this particular post I will focus on women) would become even more irrational than it is now, as people would be abusing people who are equal to them, who identify the same as them and therefore all their believed power would be lost; for how can you feel power over another person when you are equivalents?


One whole sector of discrimination would be wiped out.


IN FACT

LET’S ERASE ALL LABELS

Let’s erase races, gender, sexuality & so on..

LET’S JUST STRIP IT BACK TO BASICS

LET’S JUST BE PEOPLE

& what’s the basic, greatest right people have?

Freedom.



So, let’s ditch the labels..

Let’s just be people with freedom.

Oh, how blissfully peaceful that would be.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo

The Fear of the Unknown

So, I’ve been relatively quiet the past week or so..

Truth is, I’ve been struggling; I’m not coping.

I am so utterly depressed that it is paralysing. As dramatic as that sounds, I’ve never felt anything like it.

I literally cannot move.

I just have no energy or strength, even thinking about rising out of this sofa is debilitating.

I am so, uncontrollably sad.

I mentioned in a previous post that the police had contacted me concerning something that had happened 14 years ago to an old school friend, asking me to be a witness.

It’d seem that uncovered an array of trauma that I myself had experienced.

I may have mentioned before that I have completely blanked out my childhood and it was only a mere few years ago that I remembered a few poignant moments.

These moments seemed to involve me suffering emotional and mental abuse from my cocaine-addicted ‘Stepmum’ (she isn’t worthy of that title to be honest!)

Other than that, I don’t remember any significant moments; a few happy ones but huge bulks of my timeline are missing.

On the evening of contacting the police last week, I was laying in bed; overthinking, analysing, worrying..

& suddenly, event after event unfolded within my very mind of four circumstances of a twisted sexual nature.

I felt sick.

I felt ashamed.

I felt disgusted.

& in that moment as I lay trembling in my bed; I was in a blur, I was lost, I was afraid.

I woke my Mum and clung to her for my very life.

She asked what had happened & I gave a brief outline as I have in this post yet however much she questioned me on what the circumstances were I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words; they were there, they were ready. They needed to be free but I just couldn’t let them escape the boundaries of my mouth, my mind, my heart.

Ever since I have been in an absolute mess.

So, today I had an appointment with a psychiatrist who I had only seen once before as my usual doctor is on sick.. this stand-in is absolutely brilliant; I have never connected to anyone so quickly & for that reason I hope my normal doctor never gets better (joking – of course!!)

I sat down in front of him as someone who never cries anymore as I have no emotion left in me.

All he said was ‘you sat in front of me last time with a mask on, like you do every day in your life, acting like you’re coping – and you’re not coping – are you?’

That was it. The flood gates opened. I wept ‘I’m not coping!!’

Finally. Finally I can let someone see in to my soul. The real me.

Whilst I didn’t tell him what had happened, he assured me I had been made to do these things; it wasn’t my fault.

The worst thing though, is that I know this was only the crust of an extremely thick slice of bread.

The worst thing from all of the past week is what it has unfolded at the very back of my mind.

A box, full of dread and trauma.

Whilst I don’t know what happened to me as I can’t remember, I now feel it there. I know it’s there. I know there’s something that my mind is too traumatised by to uncover.

Jesus, that terrifies me.

He summed up how this explained the majority of my current circumstances, qualities and traits.

He mentioned PTSD numerous times & I sobbed how I wished I could remember.

He said ‘why?’

‘Would you want the young people you work with to forget the trauma they’ve been through if they could?’

‘It’s amazing you’ve turned out the way you have with everything you’ve experienced. The fact you’re at uni, volunteering, is remarkable. Even if you weren’t doing those things I would be amazed how well you’re doing, just by surviving.’

Ok, so, maybe I’m lucky.

In a bizarre, cruel way; maybe I’m one of the lucky ones.

Maybe I need to learn how to manage this suppression; how to survive.

For I have survived all these years.

To those have suffered trauma, abuse, heartache yet are still here; you are a survivor.

& to survive is the hardest part of living.

You are strong.

I am strong.

My psychiatrist is going to have someone get in contact with me by the end of the week so I can start therapy (again) & I am going to beat this.

I am going to win.

Love always,

An Impartial Soul xo