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Musings of a Madwoman 🖤

It watches, it consumes, it destroys- A journey of soul searching and motherhood 🦋

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Bulimia

Dying For Perfection 

Welcome to my nightmarish reality life with BPD and BULIMIA following attempted suicide


Once upon a time there was a high achieving individual who was striving for perfection. Who binged/purged, cut themself and cried every night.  wished things would get better but they never did. The individual never got the “happy ending”, that one is me! I destroyed my body for the peace of mind I never got.

I can’t escape my thoughts, do you know what it’s like to be tortured by your own mind? Sometimes I don’t want to wake up because for so long everydays been the same and I’ve been waiting for so long for things to change. Only 5 years ago I never would’ve expected my life to have turned out like this.. but oh my god I’m so freaking sick of apologising to everyone when I’m the one collapsed on the floor with tears tumbling down my face and fighting the urge to end it all, to take my own life. 

Once you’re caught in Mia’a grasp it’s a vicious cycle, it’s a horrific place to be stuck in. It starts with something that “triggers” you, then you get the craving urges. After that you begin to binge which ultimately leads to purging to avoid the dreaded weight gain, but the binge/purge leads to feelings of shame and disgust so then you begin restricting or strict diet and exercise regimes which leads to tension and the process begins again. Though they say a flower can’t grow without a little rain, I’ve come to the conclusion that despite that theory- isn’t it also true that too much rain kills the flower?

Purging is like a drug, trust me it really isn’t nice to purge. It feels awful but it slowly becomes addictive. The illusion of safety, the idea that you can go back in time, control your body and do what no one else would dare to do. But after purging the nasty feeling consumes you – the shaking hands, light headed, dizziness, tiredness, feeling exhausted, the stench of vomit on your breath, swollen cheeks, your eyes cry involuntarily as you sit on the floor hunched over the toilet. Like I said Purging is like a drug. It makes you think you like it ,while it slowly consumes you. What you purge, purges you. You lose control, you lose yourself, you become addicted, you destroy yourself but worst of all – you don’t even notice! Until it’s too late and the damage has been done.

When I was younger and first learned about suicide I was utterly shocked. I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so tortured that they’d contemplate or even attempt to end their life. All I can say now is – isn’t it funny how fast things can change? On impulse I swallowed two bottles of benzodiazepines, I spent many nights alone cutting my arms and thighs deeper and deeper. I either binge till I purge or I starve myself, sleep for 16 hours or have insomniac nights, fall in love hard or hate with a passion. Fire words of hate – telling you I hate you or to go or be in love and begging you not to leave me. I don’t know what grey is but to tell you the truth- I never did!

Dying to be pretty became a disease, I was slowly killing my self just dying to fit in. Nowadays my recovery is just one big “I’ll try harder/I’ll try again tomorrow”. If you give up on me, I’ll give up on me too. But for now I’m not totally useless – I can always be used as  the demonstration of a bad example.

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*Waking up … Alive*

 

I can’t say I’d ever  given much thought as to how I would die,  but I can’t bring myself to accept the actions and decisions that literally brought me face to face with death. It also brought me face to face with the biggest wake up call of my life.

When I was younger I never understood how someone could be so tortured that they’d self harm and become addicted to something so brutal- I never imagined it would be me that’d be scarred for life from brutal episodes of self harm. I never understood how someone could hate their body so much – I never imagined that it’d be me bingeing till I purged and be stuck in Mia’s brutal grasp. But worst of all I never understood the brutality behind mental illnesses that would drive the victim to attempt to end their life, I never imagined it would be me laying in a hospital bed at just 19 years of age fighting for my life after taking a major overdose on benzodiazepines/ 50mg lorazepam. I have written a couple of blog posts about that particular event so feel free to read them and follow my blog as I continue on my journey. However this post focuses on life after attempted suicide hence it’s title – “Waking up … Alive”.  In this post I’ll attempt to explain the emotion and isolation that a suicide survivor suffers when they wake up and learn they survived.

Attempted Suicide is a torturous subject for the victim, it’s a lonely, dark journey that one embarks on, you feel isolated and the roller coaster of emotions is the worst – the guilt that you have over what you’ve done to those you love is crippling, the shame is overwhelming, anger and sadness when you tried to end your life and wake up having to live with scars and emotional pain because you’re still on the planet that you tried so hard to escape. There are so many emotions attached to attempted suicide but the thing that broke my heart more than anything else was the sympathetic stare. People started talking to me differently- like I couldn’t handle life, they avoided certain conversations like the plague and when people talked to or looked at me they made me feel like I was a mentally ill person. They just treat you so differently than they have in the past and it’s the worst feeling ever. 

In terms of my mental health 2016 was quite literally the year from hell.  I developed bulimia at the start of the year when my relationship ended but wasn’t diagnosed till mid September, i overdosed on paracetamol but didn’t tell anyone, I started self harming again in February which lead to the diagnosis of major depressive disorder and my first round of anti depressants- “the escitelopram haze” self harm escalated which lead to multiple psych related hospitalisations and a night in crisis respite, they changed me to venlafaxine in April and I finally developed the courage to come out as gender fucked. Somewhere among all of it I met Sophie (previously Rob) a  transgirl who was my saving grace. Later in the year they concluded that I have borderline personality disorder and stress related hallucinations. Sophie and I had a huge fight in December which coupled with family drama and me  believing our relationship was through led me to  overdose with the intention of ending my life. I spent a whole week in crisis respite and I’m  lucky to be alive right now.

However it’s not all that it seems despite still being with Sophie my life has changed dramatically. I didn’t want to survive so I’m still bitter  about being alive. For many young people who attempt to end their life it is a cry for help, they don’t actually want to die.  

I did, but now I live with the repercussions of my actions and the bitter memories of that fateful day because for me waking up alive was the proof that nightmares are real and surviving what the doctor described as “the worst case of attempted suicide he’d ever seen” was the biggest wake up call of my life. I wasn’t scared of dying I was scared of surviving because I knew if I did I’d only be more messed up than I was before.

In the words of one of the songs that saved my life

“I’ve got pain, I’ve got scars that I will never show, I’m a survivor in more ways than you know”

– Warrior by Demi Lovato
I survived suicide and I hope to inspire others to overcome their difficulties and be warriors and unite as “Suicide survivors” so if you’re having a rough day place your hand over yor heart, can you feel that? It’s called purpose – you’re alive for a reason so never give up because you have the power to say this  is not how my story will end.

A Christmas Milestone

 December 25 2016

**TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ **

Mentions suicide attempt, overdose and mental health/illness 

 suffering with borderline personality disorder, bulimia, extreme self harm, anxiety, depression and an array of mental health problems Doctors and counsellors said that I would be lucky to see my 19th birthday, months flew by and recovery was in sight but nothing could’ve prepared us for what would happen next.  Before we knew Christmas was fast approaching but the unimaginable happened and a family and a life would hang in the balance.
What should’ve been the happiest day of the year was masked by sadness and an odd melancholy feeling seemed to loom over us like a thunder cloud. To anyone we just looked like your average father and child  but what you wouldn’t know is that just 13 days ago I attempted and almost succeeded in ending my own life via overdose.

As I tore the paper off my Christmas presents, a smile spread across my face. As I ran through the house at 07:00hours squealing “it’s Christmas”, I felt the familiar excitement that I did as a child. My Daddy smiled at me and looked at me with an expression that was one of joy yet extreme pain and sadness. Yes I’m 19 years old now and this is our second Christmas since my parents split but that is not why the atmosphere is far from that of Christmas, my father now treasures every moment with me since just 13 days ago I almost committed suicide by overdose. I came so close to death that doctors say I’m lucky to be alive. 

As I ran through the house squealing, tearing paper from gifts and stuffing myself full of chocolate my father watches from the distance. I know deep down he’s consumed by guilt and has so many questions for me but for now captures the moment in his heart. He is my hero and inspiration, from a troubled youth to a dedicated soldier to a father of 5 my dad has taught me so much about life. I am so thankful to everyone who loved and supported me through the last few weeks and I realise how lucky I am to have been here on this earth to celebrate Christmas this year. After all I almost didn’t get to see this day and I’ve lost so much but now I’m learning to Rebuild my broken life, start again and shoot for the moon! 

I spent my whole life being doubted, put down and made to feel inferior to my peers. I’ve battled through multiple mental illnesses alone. They said I wouldn’t see 19, I did. they said that overdose should’ve killed me – it didn’t. I was born a fighter and I will be forever. I may not have achieved my dream of being the soldier my father once was but I’m the child of a soldier who defied the odds at every turn and still continues the legacy my father began almost 35 years ago. I realise now that I’m only confined to hell by the walls I built myself -because remember that guy who gave up?! Yeah neither does anyone else. 

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