Bombshell

At around midday yesterday, unit staff announced the decision to reintroduce two much dreaded 'high energy' supplements into my meal plan.

The room around me blurred and whitened as my mind whirled into the shadow flecked vortex of spinning panic and dissociation.

Today I sit in relative calm.

The pain and the panic whirl around me but not within.

I discharged myself from the unit.

I'm not entirely sure how I will manage

but

failure is even less of an option that it was last week or the week before.

So:

The work of rebuilding continues.

A lot tougher and a little lonelier, but it continues nonetheless.

At the moment I am shuffling through rubble, feeling little more than dazed as I survey the extent of the wreckage and try to keep breathing through the swirling fusion of chalky dust and stone.

Anyone for Valium..?

Tomorrow I fly.
Sounds good huh?

Hmm.

It would be if I wasn't a)severely emetophobic,
b)prone to bad panic attacks
and
c) flying alone.

A negative way of viewing it all, I agree...

Positive things are that a) I go armed with a month's worth of Diazepam
b) I haven't dared to book a flight to go abroad for over 2 years
and
c) ... er.... I'm scraping the barrel here... c is........... Ok. There is no C. I'm scared. No two ways about it.

The other thing that I haven't mentioned is that a little bit of this holiday is about trying to get a little bit better and put on a bit of weight.
That's the promise I've made to my family and to myself.
Problem is, only a PART of me wants that.

What I would really like, is for a ceasefire. Just for a couple of weeks.
And yet... without all the frenetic exercise and the discipline and the anxiety and the scales... How can there be peace?

I'll attempt to write more.

Coastal Wanderings

I have friends in Cornwall and, in need of a change of scene, I packed my little car and headed South in search of wintery sun, salt winds and the turquoise ocean.

I certainly wasn't disappointed by any of those.

Over the four days, I followed craggy cliff paths for miles along the coast.

I love the stinging freshness of the sea air, knotting my hair into sticky tangles as the on shore winds catch you from the side.
I love the flat, wind-skinned grasses and I breathe the salt fish air as it cuts across my face.

Far below golden, sun baked cliff faces, the black rocks gleam like angular seals and I am in love with this place. This moment. This air.

I loved picking my way through the lonely, heathered landscape; Watching swelling, white clouds roll across the blue, to become as one white sea over the horizon.

Beauty.

Humbling majesty.

And somewhere within, a wave builds and I surf it as it folds and crashes and races my heart

There is a bible quote that I always think of at times like these. I have no idea whether it is appropriate to use in this context, but for me, in the midst of the breathless wonder of such untamed, natural beauty, it is as though, "deep calls to deep".

Countless times I have been struck by the indescribable sense that some deep, unknown part of me is responding to a depth of purity in creation that is beyond the grasp of human intellect. Deep calling to deep.

At the risk of sounding as though I am spouting hippy crap, I wish to point out that I am not big into tree hugging.

No. What I am trying to describe is something spiritual. It's almost as if, a tiny piece of earth breathes in at exactly the same time as heaven, and for one fraction of a moment, the two merge and hover together, as one.




I could go on to write about the rest of my holiday, and how I came back early because I could no longer cope with the fear and lack of control over food.

I could write about the terror each time that night fell and the emetophobia sentenced me to moments of extreme panic.

But... I won't because I am afraid.

I'm so angry that I ruin every good thing that I have.

My Cage.

I'm so tired.
Not just lack-of-sleep tired.

Soul tired.


Sometimes depression feels like an extra limb growing out of me; grotesque and oversized. Not something that could escape my notice.
More often though, depression becomes so innate that it is barely distinguishable.
It coats my insides in a death mist that slows my senses, blots my feelings and leaves me feeling little more than an empty shell.
I am a container of a hidden fog of gas so noxious, so insidious, that I can no longer recognise my edges. Perhaps then, that is partly why I need to be able to see and feel each rib; why I need to be small enough for me to hold.


A sense of desperation claws at the arid valleys of emptiness inside me.

On my 33rd birthday, I weighed 6 stone 8 pounds.
Less than I weighed when I was 13.


I'm trapped in a wire cage and, when I dare to look at the space inviting the unknown, I become so afraid and feel so broken, I dare not fly through it.
I'm left clinging to the perch, with an energy I can't sustain, in a very foggy, very frightening cage.



I'm so so so upset that I have let panic win today.

I'm sad enough to taste salt tonight.

This Week...

AGAIN, I have so much to say and yet so few words.
This is becoming something of a norm for me.

Last few therapy sessions have been reasonably gentle in response to a terrible session last Friday in which I actually thought my insides were going to cave in and I would implode.

Wednesday left me reeling after I had a really bad panic attack in the hairdressers and had to leave with soaking wet hair.

This weekend, I hope, will afford me a little time to put myself back together a little and to collect my thoughts and maybe try and get some down.

I'm finding it hard to write for a number of reasons. Mainly a reluctance that is borne out of fear but also just out of a general inabiltiy to express.

Blurring The Edges - The Mind Thing

The mind thing.

That's what I called it before I heard the terms 'fragmentation' or 'dissociation'.

For a long time I have been aware of the mind thing. It happens sometimes when my anxiety levels get really high begin to tip over into panic. Sadly, it doesn't hang around when a full blown panic attack strikes. Instead it usually appears at the most inconvenient time, usually when I am in a situation where I am engaged in conversation with someone and cannot possibly indicate that there is anything even slightly wrong.

Picture me, driving up a dual carriageway, with one of our more 'interesting' students in my car (minbus overflow - educational trip - kid not to be trusted in large groups).
Of course I have been stressed. ALL trips out raise my (normally too-moderate-to-be-comfortable) anxiety levels, but it's not as if I am panicking or anything... At least, I don't think so, until the zooming begins and the swooping darkness and the sense of that I am losing my grip on reality. It is as though my mind has suddenly begun to push against itself to create a little dented fontanelle, space enough to fold inwards.
I am battling the growing sense of what I can only describe as 'being corridored'. My mind is becoming a breath stealingly narrow passage lit by low energy bulbs which won't warm up.
And all the time, the disaffected student is talking and I am trying to focus on the words and respond at the same time as forcing my eyes to blink hard and believe that the road and traffic ahead is actually real. It is not a computer game. I am 'in' this.
My steering wheel feels part of my hands and when we arrive, I fall into the disquieted aftermath.

The warning often precedes a panic attack which doesn't always come, but if it does, can be a sweeping tornado which wreaks havoc on my inner landscape.
Panic attacks are really a post all of their own but I give them some mention here because, although not always, they are often linked to 'the mind thing'.

Another of the strangest and most disturbing things that I experience when I am zoning out is that the person who I am trying to focus on ("act normal for goodness sakes, act normal!") begins to blur around the edges and then, as though I have starred at the sun for a long time and looked away, the grey patches appear and start to swim around them and over them.
Disorientating to say the least. To say more would be to describe the nausea and the dizziness that swells and washes in crested waves through my head and gut.
I'll leave it there for fear of drowning!

The mind thing happened in therapy. It often does to some extent.
Last session she zoomed in and out and was almost overwhelmed by the monsterous steel grey amoebic blobs which looked as though they were trying to blot her out completely.
Today I knew when it was going to start because the volume went down and I hardly dared look at her. When she asked if she was zooming in and out I explained that she was blurry, as though looking at a photo taken with a soft focus lens. She thought that my mind needed to blur her. It's a protection thing. Psychobabble?
I'm not sure.

I would be interested to know if anyone else experiences this, fragmenting of their mind when they try to talk or anything similar.

Prison of Panic

If I had been kidnapped and locked up in a house with my jailer, it would be very likely that I would be furiously angry with him or her. I suspect that I would spend some time trying to cajole, some trying to empathise and some just screaming and cursing.

Today my house is my prison and I am my own jailer.

I was supposed to be going away for a few days, I've even been excited about the prospect. I really need to get away.
I'm no longer going. I can't face it. I am 'saving myself' by staying in prison.

What do you do when you are your jailer? Empathise? Get angry?
The obvious answer is to force myself to face the fear... to attempt to break out, ut I've done that so many times over the years and, contrary to the CBT philosophy, instead of getting easier each time, it's always as bad, if not worse.

So. I'm curling up in my cell, which sounds shockingly feeble, but is at least better than the fight when I am this tired of it.