I've felt empty, yet I have all reason to be feel complete. I am one emotion, in my own bubble drifting around, almost aimlessly – perhaps I'm lost; I'm certainly confused. Everything bounces back off of me, even the good things, the warm fuzzy feeling things become absorbed by the bubble and I carry on drifting...drifting. I find myself switching off, I can tell you're speaking to me but I can't hear what you're saying. I ask you to repeat it, but I'll just sit there staring a you blankly – the bubble muffles and distorts my sound, vision and sense of time. It's a shell, there to protect me, supposedly – but it's doing the complete opposite. It's smothering me. There is nothing worse that feeling out of control of your own body and mind, to the point where I am no longer a person but a big 'fuzz'. I've gone from having tunnel vision to having no vision and no reality, minimal functionality. These eyes aren't mine – I'm just watching what they see somewhere else.
Why has my defence mechanism switched itself on? Why am I malfunctioning?
I feel like I need a big slap in the face to wake me up, but nothing helps. I'll just carry on and hope for the best. One day I'll wake up, but I don't know what it'll take to get my hands on that red pill...
Don't get me wrong I'm not depressed or unhappy, just one 'blank' emotion. I'm a little lost and confused to say the least.
So here I am again. Isn't it funny how we're inspired to write when we are feeling down, depressed or confused?
I've had a long break from feeling any anxiety or depression – a good 5 months or so; it's been the greatest time of my life and I'm very thankful for having a rest-bite, enabling me to 'catch up with life'. Over the last two months, life has begun to calm down and a routine of some kind has settled in, and slowly but surely the anxiety has managed to crawl it's way back in. The bastard! I've learnt now that anxiety is something that never goes away, it's a part of us. A section of our brain is programmed a certain way, meaning that if you are the slightest bit out of your comfort zone, it gets activated. If a situation or a way of thinking goes out of control (even the tiniest bit) it switches into overdrive and hey presto you're stuck in the vicious circle of anxiety.
I am once again stuck in the rough seas of anxiety, feeling overwhelmed and scared, splashing and sinking until I can master how to float and eventually swim to safety...
I'm not really sure how it crept back in, something went 'wrong' down the line and kicked it off – I really wish I knew what. It's built up and up and now I'm reaching the point of near explosion. I'm having panic attacks on a daily basis, seeing in tunnel vision and having minimal ability to speak. It doesn't happen often but I'm feeling damn right depressed. I hate saying 'I'm depressed', especially as I know others who are in far worse situations and have more of an excuse to feel that way than I do. Hell, I'm even depressed for those people!
I've just come back from my second holiday this month, it was a short camping holiday with my closest friends, which really helped to take my mind off of things. I'm feeling a little more centred and able to think straight which is just what I needed. This morning I booked myself a docs appointment to see if I can get some help (hopefully in counsellor or psychologist form). I should have done it long ago, but now I'm at my wits end and feel it's all I can do (although, I've only just overcome my fear of the doctors which didn't help before).
September has been my cut off month, I planned at the beginning of this year that I'd do all I can to enjoy life as much as I could whilst I had the chance (and succeeded), and in September things were going to change. Now that time has come, it's going to be an uphill struggle but getting myself a job and place to live (somewhere where I'm not walking on eggshells constantly) will do far less damage anxiety-wise than staying in the situation I'm currently in. Get a job, move somewhere else...sounds simple and easier than it really is.
My Dad's due to be released next month. I find it hard to believe it's been 2 years 6 months already considering the amount that's actually happened in that short space of time. I haven't a clue how I feel about it right now. But whatever happens, I just pray that emotions don't come flooding back and I turn into someone half the size again. I am stronger, older, wiser and more experienced now, I just hope I remember that when the moment comes...
So how I do it? How can I be normal and face day to day tasks without breaking down? How do I work, study and find a place to live without breaking down?
It's all trails and tribulations..."There's no end to the trails and tribulations we all have to face, and the choices we have to make. Making mistakes, taking the wrong path and at times simply dealing with something far from the best way - it's just life, in time we'll come to learn what gets us there and what slows us down"
You'll be pleased to hear (I hope) that I am still alive! Apologies for being absent from the blag and twittersphere - I've been too busy to even get on the computer!
My life has taken many twists and turns; all spiraling in different and positive directions. I am pleased to announce that this has been the best year of my life (so far). For once I'm truly happy, and for the first time ever I feel as if I have a life (sad and soppy I know)! There is nothing better than the feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment! My future is roughly planned out and my present is stable and keeping me busy. My life experience so far has come in handy, I no longer dwell on things and follow the philosophy that everything happens for a reason. Worrying is a waste of time, if I can I'll sort it out to relieve any stress. And, If I begin to feel anxious I face my fears as much as I can - challenging myself every day. The more I face my fears; the more independent and liberated I feel. The little things that would have depressed me before I now brush off like dust.
I've been working here and there, have a nice and familiar place to live and most importantly fantastic, wonderful friends - no longer am I isolated, trapped indoors and lonely. I am free, sociable and independent!
It feels like a rebirth, but hell am I one happy born again!
My smile and laughter is a cloaking device. Beneath is fear and angst. I know you can see it. Naturally I'd run and hide, but my need to be normal is forcing me to be here in front of you. My stomach nots and twists, my breathing immobilized. Analysing every moment as it passes like a picture snapped to film, I hate the photo but can't tear up the image. And so I try to rewind the film, more awkward smiles and laughter appear in an attempt to cover up what only I noticed was there. My conversation ability has run dry and I politely make an excuse to move away. I feel like I've been stabbed in the chest; it's to painful to breath. I smile at you from a distance when you glance my way, thinking “I'm sorry for not talking, I like you, I really do”.
A week ago I received a letter from my Dad sent by a friend of his who'd just been released (from prison – see previous post if you don’t know why my dad is in prison). I'd been dreading this letter from the day I was told he was planning to write, I thought it'd be a book of apology and controlling advice - surprisingly it was the opposite. It's a good 14 pages of general chit-chat with a measured amount of apology and wishing he could fix everything. He's made some friends and got himself a computing job, also he's become a Listener - another name for Samaritan - he's called up at all hours to listen to inmates and seems to be enjoying it. He has been on a psychological evaluation course (waiting to hear more about that) where he'd learnt a great deal about himself, others and general psychology. Family have said that he's improved quite a bit and from reading his letter it seems so; although, I have heard that he still shows some controlling and obsessive manner but it's dramatically improved.
I'm so glad I'd waited this long to communicate with him, if I'd chosen to this time last year he would have pulled me down beyond drowning point. I'm thankful I made the choice for myself to cut contact completely - one of the wisest decisions I've ever made. Now things are fitting into place, and with his and my understanding of events we can talk without damaging each other. And if anything goes wrong I have the safety net that I am in control over what level of communication I want to maintain. Also now I have confidence to tell him to fck off whenever I need to and can recognise when he is going too far. I'm ready to start writing to him, I just finished my reply yesterday. I'm looking forward to showing him how much of a totally different person I am; I look forward to being unrecognisable in personality and looks - I feel powerful somehow. So here's the evidence of his progress:
"I know in the past you came to see me as trying to be too controlling, and I can only say that I never intended it to be that way. I only ever felt like I was trying my best to help, but that often it felt like any help was being resisted and turned away, mainly by Mummy, although she never seemed to try very heard herself. Unfortunately, that only made me try even harder, and I can see now (with the clarity of hindsight and the more useful subjects covered in psychology) how that would have come across and felt like, I was trying to be awfully controlling. While the stress I was trying to hide and deal with over those years may have been somewhat a reason, it wasn't and can never be an excuse. I promise that in the future I'll always be on the lookout and really careful to make sure I don't ever start behaving that way again."
He does mention my Mum in a bad way, by not trying hard I think he meant in general with anything. I don't think he really knows what she had been going through since having post natal depression, throughout my bowel problems (which was incredibly hard for everyone to deal with) and until recent events over the last couple of years. She suffered from extreme anxiety and found it hard to do normal parent things, everything was made worse when under extreme pressure which Dad and his family usually caused. This I understand having suffered from anxiety, if I can make my Dad and his family understand me, then hopefully I can get them to understand how everything was for her. As for the stress he was going through in the past was only a recent discovery for me when his sister had explained how much of a hard time he had had, I was shocked and saddened to discover. I intend to learn more about his stresses and struggles over the last 19 years directly from him and hopefully make some sense of his condition (paedophilia, control, and manipulation). My objective is to learn why and how people are who they are, what environments and events cause a person to do things. I started with myself, then briefly my mother, now the big task - my Dad.
I've been having some very odd and vivid dreams this week. I've recently gone through a period of not remembering my dreams at all, so it's good to have my dream memory back again; though it freaks me out I somewhat enjoy the confusion of trying to recall if an event was real or deampt! My dreams lately have been a series of extreme oddness, and talking to others it seems I am not the only one. I could go into detail about the alignment of the moon and the stars causing it, but I really wont right now!
I was stall holder at a car-boot sale on a rather sweltering summers day. An old friend, E, I'd known throughout school was also there holding a stall with her family who owned a small collectables shop - they'd make business wherever they could. Someone had forced E to buy something from my stall. She hung her head low, refusing to talk or look at me; she was still upset after all this time. As she walked away again I shouted “I'm really sorry! I'll do anything to make it up to you! You were my best friend and I really value your friendship! Please talk to me!” Her family couldn't do anything to make her talk to me after I begged and pleaded with them to do something. Devastated, I left in tears and returned to my car...I woke up crying. A few years ago E had moved away to Italy for a year or so. We kept in touch until she returned; we'd always meet up whenever we could, she'd always phone or text message me and we'd talk for hours, or she'd talk and I'd listen. I liked it that way, I didn't have to worry about awkward silences. We didn't have anything in common, but it didn't matter, we got on like two peas in pod (do they get on? I don't know). Whilst she was living in Italy I'd made a new friend, K, who I thought the world of at the time, unlike E we had so much in common, yet our personalities clashed and she was somewhat a sociopath. E had a habit of texting me asking what I was up to which got quite frustrating at times, it seemed she hadn't 'got a life' and wanted to know every detail of mine by the hour. K had at one point replied to one of these messages in an abusive way - saying what I don't remember and don't think I knew she'd done it at the time. I never heard from E again. I'm not sure why I never confronted K with what she'd done, but rather ignorantly it didn't matter that I'd lost E. I spent a few weeks wanting to text or call but my social anxiety wouldn't let me, so sadly I gave in and never did. K and I's friendship didn't last much longer... From that rather childish situation I've learnt it doesn't matter how much you have in common with someone or how “cool” they can be; it matters who has your back, who generally cares about you; who would bend over backwards for you, completely trust in you and call at 2am to ask for your help. Who would always be laughing and smiling and keep your deepest secrets to themselves... I miss E very much, she was a lovely, and genuine but very emotional person who was actually rather lonely. I'd do anything to go back in time and pay her back for being such a good friend...
It's been a while since we English have had snow like this, most of us have been quite thrilled by it. Today, most public transport had been delayed or stopped completely. School's closed and commuters gave up on getting into work. It has been a rare day full of surprises and unscheduled time with family and friends; gathering for snow fights, snow man building and "my snow penis is bigger than yours" competitions. There were indeed some impressive penises erected today... Who knows what tomorrow brings, they say things are going to get worse? Will the streets still echo with laughter, will the snow still fly? Or will everyone begin to get the snow-blues and start complaining like the Englishman so famously does?...
I love photography and having just bought a new camera this is the perfect time to test it out:
I've been rather absent from myself lately, which means I've been keeping away from anything that requires much effort or attention. Yes, some may call it lazyness. I feel lacking lacking in life and direction at the moment; even though I have a very clear bold, red arrow pointing the way. Perhaps I'm put off by the sheer length of it? You've got to start walking to get to your destination, but I feel too tired and weak to even begin crawl...
Meditation would be nice, if only I could find a peaceful place for it. Just as the come walkabout advert for Australia says, "Sometimes we have to get lost to find ourselves". I need to get lost.
I've noticed that you've become very detached and withdrawn over the last few years. Has there been any trauma perhaps that caused these personality changes? Do you want to talk? Or is it me that has changed and grown distant? I really miss how we spent days on end creating illusions only we could understand. You were my best friend, and now we only talk quarterly if anything... I feel empty without you. I wish I could have been a better companion. I miss you, if you ever feel like popping over, you know where I am. It would be a truly welcome visit.
Love,
Gemma
I hate how the rush of life sucks away our souls and feeds on which we don't value until it's missing...
Time goes so bloody fast; it seems the older you get the faster it flies, and the shorter life feels. I don't live every day as if it were my last and I don't savour every moment - I switch off/tune out. Most of the time I'm too stuck in the past, analysing it as if I were studying a book for an essay. I'm so busy writing the paper of my life that I often forget to live it sometimes. I especially hate the future, it scares me and depresses me. I try my very best to ignore it. Though, it's now the time more than ever that I need to face my fears and peer squintally-eyed into it. I'm 18 and in the eyes of many I've done nothing for the past year and a bit. I've never had a proper job, quit college last November a few weeks after starting, and left school with just a few GCSEs' C+. I feel like a failure in a way, but the amount I've been through and personally achieved in my time off has been completely life changing. I'm a stronger, wiser and more experienced person.
Last year I "met" myself. I discovered who I really am: what I love, hate, and believe in. In a non-narcissistic way I fell in love with Me - she rocks my world and makes me proud...most of the time. In the past few months I have been counting the positives about myself instead of my negatives as I'm apt to usually do. These months have been my best this year; the most relaxed and happy I've had in such a long time. Having had a few trips and falls here and there, I've managed to pick myself up much quicker than before.
Yet, through all my improvements, there is still one big muddle of things that fails me. When it comes to going into a place everyday (be it work, college, school or something similar), such a simplicity becomes a massive hurdle. Something so average becomes a huge discomfort. I have a mental block begging me not to go in and I'm not sure why. Why can't I go into work or college? What will happen - what is there to be afraid of? The whole task becomes a tremendous depression and anxiety cycle for an unknown reason. There is some kind of invisible force that stops me from stepping out of my front door, and the times when I do manage to, it catches up with me, blocking me from the entrance of the target building. So I turn back. Running home, crying and frustrated - often making the excuse I'm psychically in pain or unwell. The excuse becomes reality and I embrace the imaginary pain - letting it consume me and revoke my guilt for not turning up. No matter how positively I think about the day ahead, and no matter how mentally prepared I make myself - nothing changes.
I think that the years of bad experience I had at school has etched this "fear" into me, where I perhaps have an underlying issue that causes this "mental block" or disability. I don't know how to fix it - and hell knows I've been looking for a way for years. This is why the future scares me: because I'm scared of failing at my own task; to not ever get further education or work wise. Now my time is running out and I've got to find the way...
I really hope this year will be a better one. Not just for me but for everyone out there. Even though I see it as some kind of fad I felt the need to make some new year resolutions this year:
To do start doing something good with my life; hopefully study and become qualified in counselling, and also begin to write my book.
To get where I aim to be by next year.
To find a social life of my own.
To have a much better year!
For many 2008 was the year to put ourselves first, sometimes selfishly but mostly necessarily. 2009 is the year to focus on others. I feel it's about completing the changes needed to make the dramatic difference in our lives that we were aiming towards. And although we are putting other things first this year we mustn't forget that we're still just as important.
Happy New Year guys! Thanks for making this blog worth it with all the comments and support - thank you!
So, I've posted a Christmas card to "him". It's the first time I've spoken to him in way over a year. We'll see what happens next... Ironically his Christmas card was made by the charity "Save The Children", I had a secret giggle to myself.
I'm not much much of a Christmas person, but I wish you all a very merry one!!
I've already received a toothbrush as a present...no idea what the inspiration on that one was - at least it's not second hand! I usually get odd presents from the grandma, although I think this year will be the last Christmas we'll have with her. She has just changed all the locks on the doors. She believes that the burglars that came a few months ago (see Why? post) took her keys and they break in and move things around every time she leaves the house. She's following in the footsteps of her sister Joan; it's a worrying and heartbreaking thing to see, I feel for anyone caring for those with dementia or azheimers.
Anyway, I've just made some chocolate chip and cinnamon cookies, they look a little like squashed aliens but they taste great. It's a quiet xmas eve for us - I can hear Shiv snoring loudly in the other room and I think I'll join him!
Cinnamon and Chocolate cookies: 130g white sugar 150 plain flour 100g melted butter 100g of chocolate - big chunks (fruit and nuts can of course be used) 1 egg A teaspoon of ground cinnamon Mush all together in a bowl and evenly place on greaseproof paper. Cook for about 15 - 20 mins at 180c
This is something I always find difficult to talk about, I have no problem telling anyone almost anything about my father, myself or my family, but only a handful of people know about my childhood bowel problem. Even though I no longer suffer from it I still find it embarrassing to talk about...
My Mum and I lived with my father until I was 5. The short period of my life is one of my most memorable. I'm not really sure what started my problem off; my parents were good parents - well my father's skills are questionable - but I believe they did their hardest to “toilet-train” me and I was on a good enough diet – although a fussy eater. One of my first memories of my problem is sitting in a hospital waiting-room in copious amounts of pain, incapable to pass anything. Being unable to pee was one of the most painful experiences, although it happened frequently for a number of months. I remember being given anesthetic in the end but I'm not sure what happened.
I must have been frightened of the toilet; I did anything to avoid sitting on it. I could go in my nappy but often the bowel movement was too painful for me to get upstairs in time. I didn't let anyone know this had happened either, I felt I could tell Mum, but Dad would hate dirt and mess so much I was scared he would be furious. One time I remember my nappy chafing so I went to rub my sore not realising I wasn't clean. My Dad found me just as I was doing so and dragged me upstairs, fuming at me. My parents often got frustrated with me as you would expect; my problem reducing them to tears and sometimes drastic measures (mostly Dad); frightening me with stories of what might happen if I didn't go, spanking me (which only happened a few times and not badly, but it's still enough to stick in my memory). Dad got so wound-up one night that he sat me on the toilet, turned out the light and shut the door warning me if I didn't do something he wouldn't let me out. I was sat there for what felt like hours, my legs had gone numb and I was cold. I knew that nothing would happen so I cried and begged Mum to do something but it was out of her control. I got off of the loo and sat next to the door so, when he came in it would look as if I'd escaped. It worked, but he spotted me in the end – leading to more shouting.
I found nursery hard, I couldn't tell the teachers when I needed to go. I'm not sure if they were aware of my problem but I was too shy to say anything; I didn't know these people, I didn't feel able to tell them something so intimate. Often I'd hang on to my urges for so long I'd burst into tears with the pain. Infants' school wasn't much easier; the students and teachers there were fairly racist towards me being one of the few white people among the eastern majority there. I was outcast and being quiet and cautious of my bowel problem just put me out further. I believe this started my social anxiety, although at the time I made all attempts to be social. PE was particularly hard, the fear of soiling myself and smelling made everything that should have been fun into the most unpleasant experiences I could imagine. On top of all this of course was the persistent physical pain.
Regular trips to the medical room stopped me from socialising – always being out of class isolated and singled me out from everyone. I was in too much discomfort to do anything; as the months past and the visits became more regular I was turned away and sent back to class. I hated every second of school, returning home upset and quiet. I wished I could sneak out of my bedroom window to find somewhere nice where others would be more understanding about my trouble. Wearing nappies became a burden, I just wanted to be normal. I left trails of my problem everywhere, constantly looking behind me just in case – it was truly disgusting. I wont go into details. During some playfighting with a friend my trousers came loose and I panicked remembering what I was wearing, but it was too late: she had seen my nappy and I died inside. I was wearing them until I was age 7. After that I wore three layers of knickers and packed them with toilet paper, this took my embarrassment to the extreme - having to be even more cautious.
The visits to the hospital and doctors increased, I went from medication to medication and specialist to specialist. I was given all sorts of laxatives: stool softeners, bulk-producing agents, lubricants and stimulants, suppositories and even diet pills. One of the laxatives worked in particular - Sodium picosulfate. This made me pass a stool no 5 or 6 year old should ever have to, but I felt the happiest and lightest I'd been for the first time years. The effects weren't long term, I had no bowel muscle and soon enough everything returned to “normal”. A lot of time was spent in emergency rooms which never got me anywhere and succeeded in increasing my fear of hospitals. One of the constipation specialists for children recommended the gold star system - you can guess how well that worked. I was having trouble breathing around the age of 8, doctors thought I had asthma and gave me an inhaler. Nothing was done about the constipation for a few years, I kept up the laxatives but nothing had changed.
Primary school was much better, they understood my undiagnosed problem and living with Mum had taken off extra stresses. The school nurses were more understanding although they too became fed up of me visiting every day. When I was 10 the wealth fare officers were called due to my lack of attendance. My difficulty breathing, stomach pains and consistently feeling sick got worse. We pushed the doctors harder to do something, we needed answers and now urgently needed an increase in my school attendance. After many useless visits and check-ups at the hospital I finally got referred to Guy's and St. Thomas's in central London. My new specialist knew exactly what he was doing. An x-ray had shown that the constipation had reached just below my ribs, action urgently needed to be taken. I was sent in for a bowel evacuation (an enema) under anesthetic and stayed in hospital overnight. If it had been much later I would have had slim chances of living.
I felt so very different, I could move and finally breathe! As I had no bowel muscles I still had to take laxatives from time to time so that I could stay un-constipated and give the muscles time to get stronger. Life had totally changed and I was so much happier. I could eat bigger meals and absorb nutrients – before I could only manage to eat rabbit portions, I was an unhealthy pale colour and often ill from any bug that was circulating.
I would say that living with such extreme constipation has left me scared. I hate to think about how it was back then. I've covered most of it up now - buried it deep but I know it's there, it rises to the surface in the form of tears. I feel guilty for putting so much stress and strain on my parents although it could not be helped. The constipation did my insides damage; I still have bowel pains and doctors have said my tilted and twisted uterus is a result of it. When I have any sign of constipation I can go to extreme lengths, often taking a laxative overdose due to the fear of going back to how things were. The eight years of being constipation free have been the best years of my life...
A 18 year old English girl, wading through life whilst trying to make sense of it. Piecing back together a fragmented mind and a fractured past - the affects of living with an emotionally abusive father and family. "This rotten world gives you what you lack"
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