"A right understanding that death is nothing to us makes the mortality of life enjoyable, not by adding to life an unlimited time, but by taking away the yearning after immortality."- Epicurus 
There is so much to know, to learn, to take in. Seconds pass and the present becomes the past. Its a slow and inevitable torture. I sit and I write, I read philosophy (or at least I try to!) I want to understand the world, and I want to understand myself. I don't think I can. 
I'm trapped in the fear of wanting to do but not wanting to be judged. 
There is so much I yearn for, and so little I do about it. 
What will I do when I read this back in several years time? Will I be sad, shake my head at how naive this eighteen year old is? Its half term, we have a week off school. I've sat in my house doing nothing all day. My existence is laughable. 
I don't think I have yearned for life after my death, should I? Life passes and its frightening but in a curious kind of way. Whats around the corner? Mostly its what was before the corner, the same dreary drivel. Life is a bore, and I feel a fool for writing that because in the prime of my age shouldn't I view the world with rose tinted glasses? Shouldn't everything be new and exciting and enjoyable? Shouldn't I be making the most out of life? 
So many questions and so few answers. 
I rang my counselor up last week and asked for another appointment, I haven't seen her in over half a year. Time has passed and our lives have continued and I feel different put I can't quite place my finger on it. How do I feel different? I think I've hardened and crumbled at the same time. I watched a film just now and the boy who is mentally unstable talks of how he is happy and sad at the same time, and what a curious notion that is for him. I feel it too. I wonder if everybody does? I'm laughing and smiling and joking, but I'm dying a little inside. Self destruction seems to be my forte. Its what I find comforting, have others comfort me in my time of despair. 

If I wasn't myself I think I'd have a tense disliking for me. As my mother says I feel everything very strongly, and I don't think this is a particularly desirable quality. 

I'm just an empty shell, comfort eating to fill the void. I'd like to be thin, I really would so that my outsides could mirror my insides. A dried up well, dusty and deserted. 
Self pitying will get me nowhere. I have a passion to write but the words are always tinged with such sadness and self loathing. I can't begin to imagine writing about something other than myself, and thats the irony of it all isn't it? We self loath but we couldn't imagine a life where we didn't, because in that life would exist the premise that in order to stop self loathing we would instead have to focus our attention to something else, something that isn't us. And when you think of it like that, self loathing isn't really self loathing at all, its a very complex, ingrained obsession with ourselves. 

Thin begins again.

Determination to be thin fills my bones. It has come again and I swear to you it will not leave until I am my perfect size. I'm sick of being the girl trapped in a prison watching everyone else on the outside enjoy life. I'm getting my act together- food wise (school work is still a no-go). I'm going to start eating a lot more fruit, excersizing at the gym and making sure I lose weight.

It has to be done. There is no alternative, no compromise, nothing but the scales and I.

Positively negative

Apparently our happiness can be defined as this: genetics constitutes for fifty percent, personality traits account for twenty percent and the other twenty percent stems from your thoughts. Therefore it follows that if you think positively, you are more likely to be a positive person, hence your happiness levels ought to be higher. 

I try to be positive. I do. I'm thinking already how pathetic and whiny that sounds writing it out like that. "I'm trying honestly" said the boy who cried wolf- that seems to be me at the moment. I say that I am being positive, but am I really? 

I feel that I am not in control though, of my thoughts I mean. There is a fog in my brain, that won't disperse and clear. It clouds my judgment on others, it cripples my ability to think straight. It leaves me with awful thoughts stipulated by OCD. I can't seem to escape death. It follows me in my dreams. It follows me even in my day-dreams. I lay next to my sister on my parents bed earlier and watched her sleep. She asked me so many questions- what if it doesn't get better? Are you going to university? Are you going off to America? Do you have to leave? But why? I tried to dismiss them, tried to make her sleep, and when sleep finally emerged I had two sickening thoughts. Firstly I thought of my suicide attempt, and how she would be lying here in bed alone if I had succeeded. Secondly, from out of nowhere, a voice said- you should kill the both of you. The thought was so startling I started to weep. Like I said I cannot evade the presence of death; it seems to cling to my soul like a bee to honey. 

I have a lot of OCD thought if that is what you want to call them. They always involve the well being of my family, particularly my mother and recently my sister. I do not care for my own welfare, therefore the thoughts do not seem to concern myself, but rather others. I have to check and double check and triple check that the gas is off, otherwise a voice creeps into my head telling me that my family will die in the night of gas poisoning if I do not check. And when my mother walks out of the house to go shopping, or drive somewhere a feeling ( of desperation? fear?) fills me, and I am duty bound to shout out "BE SAFE" before she leave for her journey. And sometimes I even stand at the door and wave her goodbye, focusing on the details of her face- certain that those moments will be the last time I see her. I have showers and turn of the water taps mid shower, imagining vivid thoughts of burglars invading my home and tying up my mother and sister, torturing them to death, and I listen and wait for it to happen...but of course it doesn't.

WHY DO I THINK THIS WAY? WHY? 

I know I'm not right. I have always known this. I have known this to be fact rather than opinion more so than I know of my identification. It has been etched into my brain- this niggling concern that I am not right, that I have the potential to be self destructive, or worse, inflict destruction on others- mainly since I became depressed, and since my major panic attack in October that was so so frightening. 

I just want my mum to come home and tell me it will all be alright. I want to hide under the covers and just not be me for a while. I want to bring the light back into my sisters eyes, with the same resolute desperation that I had when I watched it go out of mine. I want I want I want....

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness

So where do I begin?
I haven't blogged in what feels like forever, I'm not even sure if anyone cares, although I've noticed that I now have a couple more followers (which I am very grateful for!). I don't particularly mind if nobody bothers to read my work, it is just there for my comfort and as a way to relieve my thoughts.

We had to draw an idea of what our mind looks like in psychology the other day. I really wanted to fill it with words such as 'consumed by food' 'anxiety' 'depressed' 'self-loath' 'empty' 'hate everyone', and then I realised that this person isn't me anymore. And besides why would I want this strange, self-obsessed person to be me anyway? Instead I filled it with four words - emotion, thoughts, positive, negative. I explained how when I have a positive thought it affects my mood and emotion, and likewise when I have a negative thought it also affects my mood and emotion. I believe this sums up most of us quite well, let alone me. My partner just drew a crazzzyyy scribble all over his piece of paper and then gleefully declared that he could not describe his mind, other than to say that it was a 'whirlwind'. Its true he is a whirlwind. I love crazy people, they seem to look at the world in a different way, as if they have donned a pair of glasses that tint the world with vibrant, vivacious colours.
I've been discharged from the Maudsley hospital, since I turned eighteen a month ago. It felt like the worse thing in the world, but I'm starting to realise that it has actually done me the world of good. I can move on now, and let it all just go. I'm still on the tablets and I am happy about that. They make me feel normal, and they make day to day life enjoyable.

So I've been okay actually, I might even venture as far as to say I've been 'happy' whatever that means.
I'm going to Ghana next summer to help build a community, and then onto university. I've got exams coming up soon, and I've been oscillating between working hard, and not even bothering to work at all.
I've decided that I HAVE to loose weight, I just have too. But not in an obsessive kind of way, in a healthy kind of way.

I feel like there is not much to say anymore. But that's quite a good thing actually, because when I do have lots to say its usually because I am in a very low place. Christmas is coming and I'm actually looking forward to it for once! I sat at the breakfast table the other day, and told my mum that this is the first time I've allowed myself to feel excited for Christmas. Its a strange thing being ill, or sad, or whatever it is. It kind of haunts you, clings to you like a comfort blanket, and its only until you begin to let go and believe there is a world of possibilites beyond the duvet that protects you from the outside, it is then that you can begin to get better.
I believe I am on the road to recovery, hell I might even be there. I'm not thin, not even slim, but somehow that doesn't seem to fill me with physical sickness anymore. I'm not anxiety ridden either. I'm just me. Well I'm beginning to find 'me', maybe I will let you know when I've completely found her.

I hope everyone else is well, I really do.
Who knows when I will write again, maybe it will be tomorrow, maybe it won't. xxx

Procrastinating as usual

I am procrastinating again which is not good.
I have a lot of school work to do, and its been pestering me as usual. I've pushed it to the back of my mind, but half term is over tomorrow, and I can no longer avoid putting it off.

I always have so much to say in my head- a beautiful, flowing story. But when it comes to write, I seem to freeze up. I forget what needs to be said.

I went a little crazy today. I threw stuff around the room, hurling it into the walls. I ate a lot of food, shoving it into my mouth to somehow fill the void of pain and emptiness. I turned off all the lights in my house, shielding my eyes until all light switches had been pressed, because somehow being in the dark feels safer. It feels like I am making my house conspicuous  so that people will not knock on my door, making me jump and cry out in fright. So that I can be left alone to self destruct quietly. I sit and continue to eat my food, feeling a sickening churn in the pit of my stomach. A feeling of uneasiness also consumes me throughout the day.

I've enjoyed writing with frequency lately. Sometimes though, I think that I would have nothing to say if I did not talk about my illness and my problems. Jan told me that I cling to sadness because I am afraid of the world, and I use it to fill the void in my life. I think I need to start filling that void with something new, something intellectual.
I wish I could write like this about politics, or history, or art or something, anything intellectual. This illness is not new and exciting, it doesn't quench my thirst for knowledge. Instead, it sticks like glue, peeling away slowly until there is nothing left of you, or it, or anyone else.
I like the thought of being intellectual. My doctor Femi tells me that he is certain I will fulfill my dreams, and my educational aspirations. I want three A's at the end of my A levels. I believe I am currently at a B standard in all of them, but I will work hard to improve them. I have decided to put some structure in place, to stop my life turning into a train-wrecked roller-coaster of a ride.
Here are the improvements that I am going to make,starting from tuesday:

- Every day after school I will stay for an hour to do homework
-Every day I would like to complete two pieces of work
- Every day I would like to go to the gym for at least an hour (preferably two)
- Every day I would like to have an hour to myself, to read, write, relax, wash my hair and fix it, paint my nails or do whatever
- I don't want to do homework at the weekends, I want to go out and have fun- I am going to make a conscious effort to do this, rather than staying at home cooped up. (If I get out and about more, then I am hoping my mood will improve)
- I will get in to bed at 9pm every evening, and read for an hour before falling asleep at ten. This will ensure that I have nine hours sleep.

Right I am going to try and get cracking with my homework. I think I have procrastinated enough by writing this post. Hope everyone is well xxx

Walk around the wall, don't beat it down

You hold onto sadness because its a security net. Its safety, its familiar, its comforting. Happiness, I told Jan, can be embraced and fulfilled till I'm bursting at the seems. When I'm sad though, happiness is a foreign concept. I forget how to feel happy. Or more accurately  I don't allow myself happiness. Instead, I wallow, I weep, I let everyone come rushing to help me. Just because its easy that way.
When you are happy everyone stops thinking you need help.

Doctor Femi told me that without medication depression will eventually subside after four to six months. But thats four to six months of pain, he told me. I'm starting to believe that it will subside because nobody wants to be sick for that long. Suddenly sick becomes too heavy on the shoulders. Suddenly sick is not what you want to be, and not what you thought it would be. Sick didn't live up to your glorious expectations. Instead it gave you cold reality. Sick has turned you against yourself, made you the number one enemy, when really you are crying out to be the friend. "Sadness and I walked hand in hand for a long time" Jan tells me. "Sadness and I were bestfriends."

I was meant to get the bus into town today to see Jan. I shun my mother for being unorganised and manic, running around frantically shoving things into her bag, cursing herself for leaving it all to the last minute to get ready. Today I did this, which was unfortunate as it made me late, and made my anxiety worse about going into town. My mum dropped me off. I should have just faced my fears and gotten on the bus. When I left Jan though, I came on the bus home.
As I sat in the waiting room, I had a moment of realisation. I thought about the Maudsley Hospital and how they had written a review of my assessment. I need to get a copy of that, I thought, so that when I am older I can read it. Another thought then popped into my head. Its time to let it go. All of this sadness needs to be shown the door. This thought startled me. Am I ready? Can I let go? Do I even know how?
Jan and I had a deep discussion today. She asked about my dreams, and my sleeping pattern. I told her about my recurring nightmare I have, where I am trapped in a world covered in sandstone, where council buildings tower over me, and I cannot escape. Just when I think I've seen the promise land, when I think I am safe, it turns out to be a dead end. I am trapped. Jan asked me what I thought this signified in my life. I told her I think it represents all of my insecurities and my paranoia, that towers over me, consumes me, never letting me escape its clutch. I also told Jan that I am sleeping a lot, and I am constantly tired. I wake up every night though. Always between four and five am. I get up and I am wide away. I force myself back to sleep though.
What if all of these signs aren't symptoms? What if they are just a product of my nature, my biology, my life, the way I just am? It doesn't have to be depression...does it? Just because I wake up every morning at four or five am. Just because I am loosing my memory or I feel sad, does it really mean that I am depressed?

Jan said something interesting. She said that sadness is may way of coping with the world. That I don't know any other way to deal, so I use sadness instead. I am not a fulfilled person yet, and so I take the sadness and I try to fill myself with it, in the hopes of feeling whole. I do not feel whole. I feel like an empty, used shell.
Telling Jan my nightmare made her envision a wall. The wall is my depression, my illness, my troubles and my problems. I am constantly hacking at the wall, Jan tells me. I am trying to destroy it, trying to pull it down until all that's left is ruble. Instead all I need to do is walk around the wall. To say "Fuck it all" (as my mother vicariously shouts from time to time), and laugh in the face of my fears.

Please follow!

Hi,

To the occasional passers who stumble across my blog, please do consider following or at least writing a comment. I could do with a friend or two to talk too! (That was a lot of to's!) And to just have some interaction, considering this is a blog.

Thanks x