Friday, 21 August 2015


I went back to see the new therapist yesterday, and it actually went ok. In fact I was almost cheerful when I left. She gave me a new way of looking at the idea of an admission; basically I keep falling into these depressive bouts, and although I can get up out of them with time, they always come back. So perhaps I need to try something different. What I've been doing up til now only works for a short time, so it's obviously not a long term solution. So trying something different might be the ticket.

So I got a little bit brave and made an appointment this afternoon to see my gp to ask her some more specific questions - my intention was to tell her that I was willing to give it a go.

But I lost my bottle. In fact I very nearly ran away while I was waiting to be called in. I got as far as the door...

I asked her what she thought I should do. She told me she wasn't going to make the decision for me - it had to be my decision. She said that she felt that I wanted her to tell me what to do. And I've been pondering that. It didn't feel quite right. I really don't want her to tell me what to do - but I do really need her reassurance that it's ok to say yes. I need her to reassure me that I do need this. That's what I couldn't get her to do. It wasn't that I needed her to tell me what to do, it's that I needed her to tell me that I needed it. That I wasn't going to be made fun of for wasting everyone's time.

Or perhaps I am wasting everyone's time. Perhaps she's just bored with me. I know what a total chore I am at the moment. I can feel it in the one line replies from friends who are sick of my complaining. And in the silence from other friends who just don't bother. She's so kind, but everyone has their limits, perhaps I've just outlived my welcome.

Let's face it, I'm sick of me too.

Part of me wants to force her hand, to do something that will make her have to intervene - but I've worked so hard over the last few years to prevent that from happening. Then there's another part of me that just wants to run away and hide. But if I do that, like I always do, nothing is going to change or get better.

I don't want to be told what to do, but I do need some guidance and she won't help me out. I just don't know what to do!

I have another appointment next tuesday to try again. Maybe I can figure this out before then.

Sunday, 16 August 2015


I was musing to a friend recently about my inability to do certain things at the moment, such as take my anti-anxiety medication and attend my appointments. She likened this self-neglect to self-harm, which I thought was interesting. I guess that's what my anorexia was too - harming myself by not allowing myself to eat.

I have confided in a couple of people this weekend what has been happening, and interestingly they all came back with exactly the same advice: "imagine this was happening to your friend or your child, what advice would you give them?" But it's not that easy. I seem to really believe that other people deserve help and care, but I don't. I wish I did, but I don't. I also seem to believe that for other people depression and ED are not their fault. These are treatable biological illnesses that they simply have the misfortune of having. But not for me. For me this is my fault. I won't put in the hard work of therapy, I won't keep my appointments, I won't take my medication, therefore I get what I get.

And yes, even as I type it I can see how hard I'm being on myself. But I also know that won't change anything. I know I won't go see my gp or therapist. But I really don't know why.

I'm betting if I read over all my past blog posts there would be a pretty strong theme of me being frustrated at  my own brain, so why don't I ever learn? Why does nothing ever change? My mum suggested I go see my gp the other day. What she doesn't know is that I've been a thousand times. And nothing ever gets better.

Makes me wonder if it ever will.

Sunday, 9 August 2015


It's no exaggeration to say my kids save my life everyday. From the little hand that holds mine when we walk, to the tears that need me to kiss them away, to the big conversations about life and love; my kids remind me daily of how important I am to them.

And that is enough.

Thursday, 6 August 2015

the inherent problem with therapy

I have a new therapist. Today was my second session with her. I like her. She has a nice voice - it's strong and confident. I'm not keen on the wispy, I'm-going-to-hypnotise-you type voice so many affect. But as with all therapists, you're basically inviting them to give their opinions on your life. You place yourself in the horribly vulnerable position of telling them your most secret secrets - and they give you their opinion.

And no matter what they say - you invited it. It's for your own good.

"If you die, it will shatter the lives of your children."

Thanks. I did actually know that. But thanks for being so unnecessarily cruel.

They then get to say things like "well I'm not going to sugar coat it", "you need to hear the facts", "I need to be honest with you". Apparently the fact that I am so distressed that I have actually voluntarily come to therapy means that I asked for it. Surely the fact that I am this distressed would mean that a little sugar coating was in order? Perhaps we could have the honest forthright discussions when I'm feeling less fragile? Perhaps if you're worried about me self harming or restricting, then piling on the guilt 5 minutes before the end of the session is not the best way to go?

To say I'm disappointed would be an understatement. I'm confused now on what to do next. Do I cancel my next appointment or try again. She did apologise after I told her that she hurt me - that's something. They don't always apologise.

Sigh. I won't make any decisions tonight. Time to just sleep on it.

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

speed bumps and silence

My gp says I've hit a speed bump.

I'm not sure what I've hit.

I know that when other people have trouble, get sick, relapse, whatever, people come out of the woodwork to support them. I've seen it. I've seen messages of hope and bunches of flowers, and gofundme accounts. But I get nothing. A nothing so big and deep and black and silent. The silence is deafening. The silence engulfs me and makes me lose hope. My gp asked if the silence was what has made me feel so worthless - and through the tears I simply nodded. I'm empty from helping others at the moment and have nothing left. And the emptiness hurts.

So here I am blogging. Talking to myself again like I did so many years ago.

I did go hat in hand onto FB yesterday and ask if anyone could spare time to spend with me to keep from the silence. Thankfully two friends came through.This helped. And I know if I can keep putting one foot in front of the other I will come out on the other side of this. But in the meantime, without any voices of hope to encourage me I'm left to my our inner voice - and all that does is tell me not to ask for help, and to hurt myself as I obviously deserve it; otherwise I too would have spontaneous offerings of support. But I don't.

It's just me, Ed and the silence.