This is yesterday

I’ve been trying to write a post for the past week or so, with no success. Many have been written in my head – as I’m tossing and turning in bed next to S, trying to sleep through another fibro flare – but when it comes to making myself sit down at the little Ikea table in the kitchen and get those thought out onto the screen, I just can’t do it. So much has changed recently, and my mind is in a constant state of bemused flux; after years – decades- of absolutely everything being out of my control it’s near-on impossible to get my head around it all. I expected it to be difficult, but I don’t think this level of confusion was anything predictable. The excitement of finally standing up on my own feet masked it all for a little while, but now that things are settling a little and a routine of sorts is being established, those little niggles and worries are seeping back. Minor issues. Small things. Nothing important, and nothing which can stop the happiness I still feel at finally being free, but enough to remind me that I can make as many changes as I want and fight as hard as I can but it’ll never be easy.

Which is why I’m taking yet another big step and – against every fiber of my being – have made an appointment to see a new psychiatrist, almost two years after my last very brief foray back into the mental health system.
Like everything, I did mean to write something about that decision last week, and it was briefly mentioned in reply to a couple of comments on my last post, but – again, like everything else – I’ve been putting it off. I’ve always been open of my mistrust surrounding the UK mental health system; past experience has taught me nothing to convince me it’s worth feeling otherwise. While going back on the staunchest of decisions and beliefs is a classic symptom of BPD, I’m pretty convinced that isn’t the case this time. I sat on the decision for months, considering the options available and finally coming to the conclusion that if I want this to last – this normality I’ve found – I can’t go it alone, and although S is beyond wonderful and living together has boosted my self-esteem a lot, there’s still only so much I can speak to him about. I trust him implicitly  but I’ve spent enough of my life being a burden on others and I’m constantly aware that I can’t spend our relationship putting pressure on S to care for me.

The appointment isn’t just about that, though. It’s about everything. Every last little thing since that day in early puberty when something snapped inside my mind.

Over the years, all the things I’ve experienced have fragmented into a thousand threads of craziness. All match yet… don’t quite fit together. The ends are frayed and loose, tangled around each other in a huge knot of confusion. For a long time it was easy to accept that would never change and I would spend my whole life walking around with voices in my head and the inability to stick with anything worthwhile without sabotaging it. Comfort – even terrifying comfort – can be hard to leave behind. I’ve made so many mistakes; walked away from hundreds of chances to better my life, slept around in the vain hope of finding somebody who took all the pain away, thrown pills down my throat just so I wouldn’t have to feel, denied myself even life’s very simplest pleasures for no discernible reason at all. I’ve walked away from treatment. Fought against everybody who tried to help, convinced they were all part of the problem and could never be the solution.

It wasn’t an easy decision to make; not in the least. I’ve been in and out of the mental health system – more in than out, especially in my teens – more times than I care to count, and so far there’s been very little positive gleaned from the experience. My mother, she calls it damage. She says she sees the damage years of questions and let-downs and tablets and therapy has caused; can see it in my face. In my eyes. In the way I react whenever the system is mentioned.

In truth, it scares me. The thought of sitting on yet another cheap NHS-issue chair opposite a psychiatrist who knows nothing of the more subtle details… it’s terrifying. I’ve come so far, and I’m painfully aware that the slightest thing can bring my world crashing down like it always has before. Despite appearances I’ve never been strong – not in the least – and yet another failure is something I simply can’t afford anymore. Life now… I know I keep saying it, but it’s changed and I confess to being tired of change. As wonderful as everything is living with S, I want to stay here for a while. In this place. Where everything makes sense for once. I don’t want to make big plans, or look too far into the future. I just want this. Now. Here. Safety.

Yet, change has to happen.

I’m stubborn; and I’m still not quite ready to give into the crazy.


  1. Much love from a cold fall day in Maine. I feel as though you somehow dug around in my head to find your words — we do have some stuff in common. I echo the advice from buckwheatsrisk — if you can come up with some little thing — I have used as simple as Hey! I brushed my teeth! I hope as time goes by, you will be more at ease. I believe that will happen!


  2. I’ve said it before, that you are stronger than you know, more than you give yourself credit for, but you’ll come to understand that one day. I know it.

    One of the things that I’ve learned over the course of my life is that change, while scary, can be a good thing. More than that, each day is a miracle, because it’s another chance to change things, to move them in the direction you want. No mistake damns us forever, because there’s always another tomorrow after it, another of those amazing chances.

    I’m also going to agree with those who have said to take it one thing at a time. One moment. One small task. Be in that moment and you’ll get through it. You’ll learn and grow in the process, as the moments build on each other.


  3. You are an amazing lady. Don’t short change yourself. I applaud your decision to try to find a counselor. I tried several times. I actually had one tell me that my life was too stressful for him. He couldn’t help me because he had to go see his therapist after we had talked. LOL I have found one I have been with for over 10 years now. She is awesome and patient.

    I agree with the advice above. Take life one moment at a time. Revel in the good moments. Soak them up because they will give you what you need to get through the bad ones. Look in the mirror every morning and tell yourself, “I am worth it.”


  4. Big decision. As you’ve been thinking about it a lot, it’s clearly something you’re not just taking lightly. One thing – which I’m sure you’ll know anyway – is that it’ll get worse before it gets better. If you’re talking over old things, looking at old wounds, it’s like clearing an abcess: you’ll have to take the scar tissue off and let out all the puss and start healing from the bottom up. I’m praying for you, that you’ll have the strength to get through this part of your journey. *love & hugs*


  5. Pingback: Maybe I’m just like my father: of psychiatrists and psychotherapy « Halfway Between The Gutter And The Stars

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