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Scars -a bloody unwanted reminder

Writing prompt -Scars

One scar I have is huge – it almost wraps all the way around my upper wrist -it is 2-3 cm wide.  Indented, It reminds me of a dried upriver.

The cause?

Domestic violence.

Before I continue…

Domestic abuse & Toxic relationships

Rape -NO means NO.

I’m going to state the obvious here.

Domestic violence is a relationship fucks about with your mental health, whether you love the person or not.

 

Toxic relationships have usually tipped me over into using shitty coping mechanisms like drinking too much, taking drugs, overdosing and not managing my medication or my eating disorder and Bipolar.

So back to the blood river scar.

One night- no

Another night of heavy drinking and arguing, I found me in a house -not mine- that looked like a slaughterhouse. all dirty browns. There was a rusty scent of blood impossible to ignore.

Every time I inhaled, the scent would drip down the back of my throat like a  tap -I could taste it too.

I  had mixed copious amounts of alcohol with my medication and all I remember is trying to push my ex away with my left hand ( I am left-handed), he grabbed my arm and I struggled back.

BLACKOUT

 

 An image.

An arm.

 

 a massive shard of re-enforced window glass- barbered-   poking out of my right arm.

 

Another image.

the back of my exes legs and back running up the stairs.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRINK

VODKA

WHERE IS THE ORANGE JUICE?

WHERE IS THE GLASS?

WHERE IS MY EX?

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

PANIC 

PANIC

An arm coated thick with blood. I wear it like an accessory

Blood makes noise.

I hear screaming.

Mine.

Ex reappears and tries to grab me.

I try to run away.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRIP

I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.

Why is my ex naked? 

In the middle of the street?

Rolling on the floor with me- trying to muffle my screams with his hand. Trying to stop me from running away...

BLOOD

MIND FUCKERY at its best.

“Look what you have done…” ex says.

6 hours later – location:  hospital.

The doctor asks to speak with me in private. My ex doesn’t want to leave my side.

I don’t say anythingquack quack! quack quack! quack quack!   the word on a loop…

 

“What happened?”  he wants to know.

“We don’t know. We were drinking. I can’t remember. It was an accident.” my ex speaks for us.

My head bows down,it almost appears as if I am nodding. I can’t quite remember.

What I do remember feels like I have made it up, it is so detached from my mind and emotions. It is about as close to me as Pluto or Saturn.

3 days in hospital my ex never left my side.

Not even to go home to wash or brush his teeth.

I wasn’t alone- my mother was with us too.

I was high on morphine for the pain.

Why didn’t they operate sooner? 

Did they want to monitor me? 

The situation? 

Us? 

three days later…  I’m being wheeled on the hospital bed- away from the stale, coughing ward…

“countback with me from 10,” says the anaesthetist.

10 , 9 ,8 ……

BLACKOUT

 

“1”. my eyes burst open. I gasp a breath. It is  like I’ve been living in a homemade sac filled with half shallow water and half air.

 Disorientated.

What happened?

I look down at the artwork the surgeon has done.

No more blood.

re-stuffed re-patched, recovered,

by a micro surgical  hand.

Discharged.

Back to the carnival freak show.

I enter his home – a massacre.

Dry blood everywhere.

Smell.

Bleach.

Sound.

Scrubbing brushes.

Stubborn blood. 

If only it could serve as a reminder of what actually happened that night.

“I don’t remember” the ex says.

How can he and I not know?

Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the chaos that was my life for 4 years.

This scar says –

mutilation.

despair.

secrets.

emotions numbed.

detachment.

silence.

silence-1.jpg

This scar reminds me to NEVER be silent in the name of so-called love or a sense of loyalty to one who claimed to love me so much he would do anything to keep me.

http://www.vevo.com/watch/suzanne-vega/blood-makes-noise/USIV20300313

When I left him, I did not take his threats seriously.

 What he did next gave serious competition with the scar I see.

That everyone can see.

Toxic relationships result in a severe loss – sometimes that means your life.

Think carefully about what and who your life may include.

I was reborn again on the 06/05/2015.

The day the court ordered social services out of my life.

The day that my ex turned his back on me,  is the day I realised I had been holding my breath for years.

I had forgotten how to breathe.  I might have been dead- a wanderer.

06/05/2015 -I remembered not only how to breathe again but why.

Life -not just my own but that who is of me.

Life is precious

Life is my responsibility

resumption_by_jorgeremmy-d3drxy2.png

Heart lurch

Sometimes I feel like an aged whore

Haggard

Men only want me for a shag

Stopgap

Nice bed.I’ll nail it later.

Like nothing happened merely past the bedhead look

 

My features won’t betray the truth I wear on my sleeve.

Discontent

Scorn

Repulsion

And other adversities

 

Is my sexuality all I have to offer?

Give it some clout

No need to rinse or buffer.

 

Mantras ‘you’re good enough

Don’t manifest a reality I wish to create

 

Rage & anger

Stupidity & tears

 

Self-hatred has become an overdue break up with that same old date.

Habitually

This is my mind speaking

My heart sighs

Then pleas

To one day be a freeborn

Wings spread airborne

Follow the winds

Nature’s heartbeat

Repaired again

Not broken nor torn

Glued back together

Reckless risk-taker let no arrow

Poison dipped

Enter my chambers

Rose-tinted glasses make dead flowers appear good.

The clarity of insanity

And at  the peak of my insanity

A moment to glance away from my apparent  reflection gunning down with its eyes of La Mort

I know that if I am able to glance away

at that reflection

of utter fear and self-loathing

See

my child in her stark purity dancing in front of the mirror.

If I found myself standing over her

pick up the comb, attend to her dutifully then

This motion is fuelled by a fierce love.

A fierce refusal to allow her child to be abandoned

by her own mother

The same mother who flees from her Self every day.

If this is not a demonstration of love

then it is a moment of clarity

I see the reality I have created.

Sweet bitter

I’m ready to tipple

Tears or bourbon

I’m no longer sure

Does it matter?

Then it is a moment of clarity.

These are my words.

Inspired by reading a passage of  ‘Memoirs of a daughter’, written by Simone Beauvoir and her relationship with her mother.

My greatest mistake

If I let you creep under my skin

would you forgive me for wishing myself to die from sin?

If I let you hold tight and folded into your arms

would you forgive me for needing someone to look to for my daily psalms?

If I had you ravage my body in kisses, linger fingertips over my flesh

Would you forgive me when I can’t let go unless under the influence of a narcotic

If I had to be the mother of the year

Would you put me down when I fall from grace

I’m only human

That’s my greatest mistake.

State of Dis Orient

Ladies dressed up to watch the jockeys race, not on but against their steed.

A befitting bet, the only time you will see her bow down, wearing a fascinator – laid on the mud- sacerdotal, on her knees – lunacy fanned out in a stylish turn of the century plead. 

Mixologists stir up a great spectacle – 50 per cent proof. This skulls hidden unconscious is about to  set  Ablaze

Four straws facing north, east , south, and west. It’s nearly 8 o clock and she is losing all sense of walking along cobbled streets – eyes misty -sultry in her glaze.

Somewhere, busy – night rolls her up in its fringed tapestry. 

Abandoned, lost. Cries of her child – don’t let them take her. 

Don’t let them know she is the true reason the station has become a living catastrophe.

How did she make it past the patrolled border?

An elevator –

dizzy,

disorientated,

confused – out of order.

A wack to the mouth causes bones to elementary fracture.

Spewing out pieces of ivory tooth and red rotten metallic pulp. She has become the victim of a  mere capture.

No eyes, no mouth, no voice.

How can an invisible entity  cause so much blood to make enough for a devil   Mc flurry?

She stumbles about – finally free – absorbing kleenex tissues to stifle the colour of Florida’s orange rain. 

Elbows, whistles, laughter  – a short dwarfed jockey, begs, catches her eye – nods at her in mocking disdain.

Maybe just this once she could wish for a  platform called nine and three quarters. 

She knows the wizard told her to click her shoes thrice and think of home. How is that nothing resembles a place she knows holds the faces of her loving daughters?

Chiming spinning, no change, no credit card, no ticket. 

Ringing, coming from her leathery bag – could it possibly hold  the conscious of a good-hearted  Jimney cricket?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Familiarity breeds a set of stifled sighs.

Eyes veer to her left,  a drunken, matted hair women scream to her brood don’t let these people put you down. You are who you are – Never be ashamed and don’t fucken frown.”

” Let’s have it.”

I’m home!

I’m home!

I’m home!

I’m home!

Nothing seems familiar. She doesn’t recognize a face, a place, not even the sound of the underground.

Train tracks look as slumber full a place to have a reality dysphoric fit.

All of you attempting to copy her brand of me -too-ism.

Not even the darkest version of voodoo blended with rum can get you to her level of cuckoo-ism 

Her child appears. Disappears in the arms of another blur.

A man who says he is her husband is here to take her home – in his arms – he attempts to gather her.

Not without my daughter. She knows what these child traffickers are doing. 

Police form a ring around her – all flashing lights- yellows and blues.

What happened Miss – Miss? 

She breaks down into a misfit of boo hoo-ing. 

Assaulted by her mind and the evil hands of time. 

Destroy the ones she loves – her gaping heart – her child won’t come near her,  not even if the thought crossed over to bribe her child with a dime.

Rage, fury, vengeance and betrayal – a feud with her family- the ones who have stuck by her to the very end.

Divorce on grounds of stationary inebriation. 

Rings are thrown to the ground. Frodo come get what is rightly yours and have your eternal salvation.

Clean sheets, a bottle warmer tinkers at her feet, a hug from the husband who she tried to chase away and defeat. 

A portrait of a framed married couple- Cracked and jagged on the side of this man. Fragmented glass distorts a smile, rendering it obsolete. 

So it is true she is the one encrypted with a  learned evil, the one who holds the reigns of the one who goes by the name  Deceipt?

She picks ups her lace parasol. It can only hide little and only reveal so much – she still has the fascinator and her original brand of receipt. 

I still get to choose

Quick catch up on my life.

 Some of you may know that I had a bit of a blip with my eating disorder in the New year. I stopped eating for a month and became ill and obviously dropped weight, which wrecked chaos in my mind. I started getting panic attacks every time I thought about eating.

Anorexia’s voice managed to find the speakers I had hidden and   turned up the volume. Hate the death metal  music genre. It was terrifying. Where did it come from ? I mean, I ended 2015 on a high. So much to look ahead too with my

volunteering

 the eating disorder support and recovery group

my wedding in 12 weeks!

Saving up to go to Orlando

My pyschatirist who has known me for 10 years and was on leave at the time I was in melt down mode. I saw a different psychiatrist to ask for a medication change. The medication has helped a lot.

What hasn’t shifted is the sadness and the spark I have lost and that doesn’t seem to want to come back from harming myself for that month.

Today I am going to see Doctor J. I’m nervous as hell. I do use a variety of coping  skills and medication is one of them. I’m scared he will change my medication. I don’t know why I have this perpetual fear of my medication being taken off me?

Especially ,the ones that help me with my anxiety and sleep.

One day I want to be rid of all these medications but I need them for a while longer.  I have managed to keep a stable weight -19 bmi. shwee im eye….

 I’m  beyond fatigued of of this illness!

I won’t it to get off my chaise longue and fuck off. Leave it’s wiry bits of fur so I can suck them up with my vacuum and empty the contents in the trash.

Usually, my fears are unfounded.

Writing is another coping skill of mine.

I write this not in the hope that someone will think it is an epic piece of writing. You can  think this if you wish. I won’t say no to that thought 😀

 When I write, exercise ,eat, get out, read and take my medications -the combination is what works for me.

So this is the purpose of my post to relieve the sadness and anxiety –

If you have read up to this point –

REMEMBER

It is okay to  have doubt and feel unbalanced. Having a blip doesn’t have to mean the end of the world.

I am back on track.

I do want point out as a ‘mental note’ to myself and  for whoever is reading this:

is to consider how long it is taking to shift my mood and for my confidence  to come back .  Acknowledging this  might help me from not falling from such a high height if/when the next time my illness comes to stare me down in a dusty old town  – hands ready to draw the gun faster than me.

There can only be one cowboy in this town.

 So, Mental illness, if I am going to have a cowboy in my life I am going to choose who that cowboy will be and I choose this dude

1167059452-woody-quotes-toy-story-6811

(IMAGE AND GIF  SOURCED FROM GOOGLE IMAGES)

It is not a diet it is a insanity dilemma

So, here I am. Eating again. I know the scales are going to up. I’m scared. I don’t want to go up to 65 kilos again. I’m bartering with my Anorexic Dinosaur- old, gargantuan and frightening. I got my wish. I am on diazepam and the novelty of taking it has died already.

There is no magic pill. Yes, these little pills are meant to be ‘mothers little helpers’ but I have built up such a tolerance to pills that it seems like they don’t work.

I have a lengthy list of what I take:

  • Fluoxetine 60 mg

  • quetiapine  600 mg

  • Lamotrigine 300 mg

  • diazepam 20 mg

  • Lorazepam 2.5 mg

  • Nitrazepam 15 mg

Today I took my morning dose and for the first time in a long time I felt melancholy about how I rely on so much medication. I get so forgetful -I am terrified of getting dementia from all these pills. I’ve been on medication since I was 14 years old. I’m going to be 35 this year. I want to be FREE of these pills but I am addicted to them. There we are, I said it: I am a legal drug- taking  junkie. That’s what is boils down to. I’m not going to lie, I am down and out. I feel like a failure today. I can’t even leave the house. I’m letting my daughter and my partner down. It’s sunny in the U.K.! What a perfect opportunity to bask in the sunlight and be a family and go to the park. No, I’m way too morose and in my comfort zone.

What about the volunteering you ask ? The eating disorder recovery support  group I am setting up. Where has that passion gone? That drive and lust to live with purpose?

I don’t have a clue. But, I am going to get it back. I’m going to start enjoying exercise again. Eating what I want- feeling proud of my body. Be happy again. Happiness comes from inside- where are you hiding? WHERE?

I can’t spend my days sleeping away like I have been pricked by some poisonous needle. I need to wake up  from my nebulous slumber and face and accept that the  figures on the scale are not what makes up the whole sum  of me. How crazy is it that I get so upset over a weight increase of 1-2 kilo’s? I want to be free again. I love food. I do!  I want my life back. Reclaim it. It is mine. I will not be prisoner of my mind any longer. No, no ,no.

I want to feel attractive again. I want to be free to rise to the dizzy  heights of success.

NO MORE SELF-SABOTAGE. I feel like this post is not worthy of publishing but I must write first and foremost for myself.

End of postimages (2)

 

ED flares up

So, I have been pretty quiet on how I have been dealing with my Anorexia lately. It has been hell. I went on a detox in July 2015 and put on weight! Yes! I don’t know how I managed it. 

I have been struggling to get rid of the weight although it could have been a combo of muscle too. I am a bit of an exercise bunny.  Anyway At Christmas I  “forgot” how to eat again. I’ve dropped nearly 8 kilos in less than four weeks. 

 

 

I don’t need this shit. My mental health and weight have been stable for nearly 5 years. I’m getting married in 5 months, I’m planning on having a brother/sister for my precious child at the end of the year and I’m succeeding in the volunteering/working world. 

 

I tried loads of different non-medication alternatives and other medication tweaks over the last few months. My C.P.N.  and psychiatrist finally put me back on Diazepam again at my request. I’m on a whack of meds already ( for my Bipolar too) but the lorazepam wasn’t working any more. I  started getting panic attacks around eating again and have survived mainly on water and sweets for a month.

I’ve had hardly any energy to have a proper good work out. I have lost a lot of muscle tone and I don’t want to lose the body I have worked so hard to achieve in four years. I don’t want to be skinny. I want to stay lean. Keep my glossy hair and glowing skin. The remainder of my teeth…

Let’s hope this med change works. Tonight, I’m about to have my first proper sit-down meal with my family in a month. I am terrified. I don’t want to put on too much weight. I’ve chucked all the sweets out and got some good quality veg and seafood. Fruit.  Normal food! 

I am going to do this and move forward. It’s okay to stumble. I have caught it in time. I want my glow back and my energy. I’ve so much work to do this year.  The eating disorder recovery group is happening. I’m still here. I say a big fuck you to Anorexia and I’m fighting back. No more hospitals. I am not a victim. 

I am back!  Not perfect. Always flawed. I am a fighter. 

 

 

My thoughts about the true cost of Anorexia

” No I am not leaving until you give me what I came here for”

There are a variety of different contexts this statement can be used in. In this context, I was a 15 year old girl just under 9 stone if that; sitting in a doctors office surrounded by all his framed merits and accolades. Perfect family pictures

” I can’t give you what you ask for.Sorry but that is it”

I screamed abuse at the doctor. Tell him I am fat. Is he blind? put on your glasses old man. He has to help me. I need strong diet pills and diuretics.

“I’m not leaving until I get what I came here for. “

This went on for a good hour. I put up a good dramatic performance, tears, savage cries, pleas,  threats to take my life.

Until he finally gave in. My Mum paid for him. We left -me with a sense of achievement and happy. I was finally going to be thin.

I would sit in my grandma’s room and look in her massive mirror, with my crappy eyesight and look at my body, pinch the fat I was convinced was on me.

Can’t a doctor get down for bad ethical practice?  Come on I was born in Africa. The right leverage and price buy you a lot.

My Mum was into her reiki and doing a bit of weed and finding herself. She got pissed off and gave in. Just like she always did.  I wore her down.

I’ve never been able to fully shake off my eating disorder. I’ve stopped the laxatives. The heating up 2 mushrooms and drinking loads of Pepsi max and other tricks I learnt to stave off in my anorexic journey. I don’t want to give any vulnerable people all the tricks. I don’t want anyone to copy these behaviours..

All the hospitals I have been in. Sectioned against my will.  The rage. The anger. The weight may come back on me, but this beast: it lives inside me. It is like a tumour or a cyst that won’t go away. to cut it out would cause it to spread and I would die.

Oh, I have wanted to die many times.

Until

I made a pact with life.

I was going to try it out properly.

Like an average person.

Whatever or whoever is average.

I love my daughter and partner and Mum and I have so many opportunities coming up and January is not even over yet. Yet, I confess I have to weigh myself every day. I can’t help but get giddy when the scales show me at a lower figure. In fact it is one of the biggest triggers in my illness. 

Lose a couple of kilos and then the chase is on. It’s time to beat these numbers and watch them disappear until I’m feeling bone everywhere. Jutted out hip bones, a hanger like a collar bone with my big head attached. Knee knocking until I am bruised. Loose clothes…

I hate it when I have gone too far….. I live every day with this illness- this maladie. This puss filled abysses.

I wish I didn’t care about my weight. I wish I could allow myself to eat pasta and chips and pizza and pie and cake and all the yummy foods there are to eat. Maybe when I hit 50 and realise I’ve  wasted so many years in my quest to look like a hung scrawny wire coat hanger.

I know sexiness and true beauty comes from within. The emaciated look is not attractive to me.

Addictive , yes.

Here’s a snapshot of how me- a recovering chronic anorexic mind works… I put on weight in June 2015 , whilst on detox I may add. I hated the fact the scales went up to 10 stone -65 kilos. I somehow managed to live with it. The exercise was my saving grace and being told I am beautiful and sexy by my partner many times a day. Plenty ‘Ilove yous’

After Christmas, I suddenly lost weight. I stood on my scales this morning and I am 59.

That is meant to be my goal weight. I need to fit into my wedding dress after all. Alas, that is not enough for my dismay. That snide critter plugs me in and sends dopamine chemicals of euphoria around my brain. Fires me up. If I can lose x amount of weight. I can push it down even lower…

This is the torment. Then the iron will and battle again hunger starts. The reduction on food starts.

This is a deadly game.

I don’t want to be a part of it. I scream. Eating disorders run in families -well at least they do in mine. I have a 4-year-old perfectly proportioned child, I don’t want to pass on this to her.

I have to keep on fighting and fight I shall. I wanted anorexia so much when I was younger. I’m 35 now. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to go to the hospital again. I want to be happy with what I have.

The hardest bit is I have a couple of close friends who are seriously overweight but I love them so much. I see past their weight

Why can’t I do the same with me?

 

 

 

Self medicate

When it comes to looking after my own mental health; the one thing I have found hard to control is self-medicating.

  • You know -a few drinks mixed with some hardcore benzodiazepine and possibly a smoke of weed -all night and into the morning: is probably not going to do me and my mind and body any good.

I used to self medicate for years. I’ve been mostly stable these past 5 years. Taken my meds as prescribed and trying more holistic ways of coping.

So mindfulness- staying in the moment is a good discipline to practice. CBT -distraction. Finding out what my interests are.

These days I work with mental health charities. I’m trying to make a full-time career from it. It’s amazing what experience and a better state of mental health have done for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not magically cured. On New Years Eve, I met up with a guy I knew would be up for a mad session of partying. Something in me needed to connect. I needed to plug into that buzz I used to get.

Lesson learned for me

Going back to old coping mechanisms to ease my mental health issues is mostly going to end up in tears.

It did.

With me walking home after ‘my friend’ kicked me out of his house saying I was psycho. I can’t remember a lot of the night but I do know that is one heavy accusation coming from someone with his back ground and record.

I don’t usually mind casual use of words like ‘psycho’ and ‘loony’ in certain contexts, although I am mindful when and who I use them with. What did hurt more than anything was him telling me I am a psycho.

These acts of rebellion as I like to call them are few and far between these days. When they do occur I learn the lesson quicker. Go on a downer and then build myself back up within a day or two. I exercise. I do a lot of positive self-talk and I cut ties with the negativity.

I’m pretty chilled and easy to talk to in real life. I am getting married in 6 months to an incredibly supportive man who gets my turbulent acts of rebellion. Of course, they can’t happen too often otherwise the disrespect in our relationship would kind of snip  in two.

It is hard not to self medicate and get on the right medication.  My illness requires tweaking here and there.

The main message I want anyone to take away from this post if any is, that I don’t feel ashamed for having an illness..

I am ashamed of how reckless and out of control I get when I take my mental health for advantage.

It’s 2016. A brand new page. Well, we are four pages into it 🙂

No more parties and highly overrated expectations to waste my money.  and act like a woman with no responsibilities.

As long as do what I can to keep myself on the upper end of the mental health scale,then I know I am doing the best I can.

I could have used other ways to deal with New Year’s Eve but I chose to get ‘crazy’ and relinquish myself and power to my illness.

Mental health issues are hard to gain control of. Sometimes I just live as best as I can. Keep things simple. Keep my life simple. Be a Mum and a sort of responsible person. I have learnt quite a few tools to cope over the past 5 years.

I am more than happy to pass on some tools and ways to cope other than medication. I use a combination. This is my first post so I will go easy.

Get rid of the negative shit in your life. It is so empowering! Once that negative bubble has been popped and you take the first step to the other dark side- lots of cookies, hot chocolate, movies. Simple pleasures. If you take that small step you will start to attract positive people and have positive experiences in your life.

Daisy