Nightmares all fucking night.
I’m sort of used to them by now, in a fucked up way. “oh, that was terrifying, better get back to sleep” but when it’s literally once every one-two hours, it’s just awful.
All about my ex. It’s never rewatching abuse he subjected me to. It’s always things that could happen in the here and now.
Most common one, it’s him managing to break into my flat, which was the theme of tonight’s nightmares too.
I feel very secure in my flat, it’s a very secure building but this fear and trauma doesn’t allow that feeling of safety to last long. I check my door and window locks multiple times before going to bed, even then, I’ll sometimes wake up and have to check again.
If it’s boiling hot outside and I leave a window open in a room I’m not sitting in, once I go to close that window, I have to check every possible space a person could hide in.
Knowing how irritational it is and how fucking difficult it would be for someone to even break into my flat does nothing to ease the anxiety.
It’s weird, the dreams always stop after he’s managed to break in- they never develop further, no violence because the sheer fear of just seeing him again, so close, is more than my brain can take.
My triggers throughout the day are quite minimal, really. I cope generally well nowadays.
But when it comes to night, I’m still a 24 year old fucking woman who sleeps with the light on because the demons won’t stay away.

What The Fuck Am I Doing?

I don’t understand myself at all. I’ve had the weekend off work, which you’d think would be a welcome break but it’s just been a realisation of how mentally unwell I feel.

I’ve had a lot of thoughts darting around, for no particular reason.

Whether I feel true empathy or only when something also affects me. It seems like something you should be able to answer about yourself but at 24 years old, I still don’t have a clue who I am. Sure, I feel bad about the things I do.. Sometimes, but is that only when I’m called out for it? That doesn’t mean I’m a shitty person, that I just act carelessly towards people and life, what I mean is, on the occasion I do fuck up- do I give a shit? I find I feel more panic and fear than a sense of guilt. More afraid of being told off, like a child, rather than regret for whatever it is I’ve done.

It’s a hard thing to talk about, really. I’m aware of how it makes me sound.

There are even times I feel almost irritated that I can’t get away with things, there have been times in my life people have been upset and my only thought has been, “if I keep apologising, hopefully they’ll shut up”

And I get these thoughts and worry about who I am but I remember times where I’m so consumed by upset for others that it feels like a physical pain but again, is it because I’m upset for them? Or simply because I’m upset that I upset them? Is there more to my inner thoughts than selfishness and self pity?

I’m very paranoid lately, quietly questioning everyone around me. I feel lonely and worthless. Writing posts about how happy I am and how great I’m doing, knowing in the back of my mind how little it takes to throw me off balance. I feel like there’s something wrong with me, all I’m doing is being honest about how I feel but I feel incredibly anxious about doing so. I keep having these thoughts about how nobody can possibly like me, I think the people in the street can tell that I’m not “normal”

I don’t want to eat because of how disgusting I look, every time I think I’m over these thoughts, they come back harder. Since I was young, I really wanted to fight against this guilt around food, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. I know people think I’m ugly, I am hyper aware of the difference in how I was treated when I was thin to how I am now.

I’m tired.


Navigating the world whilst having various mental health disorders is difficult, that’s never been in doubt.
I think about some of my symptoms and how they can affect my relationship with others.
Impulsively, explosive rage, splitting.. Whatever it is.
I get stuck between understanding why people have cut ties with me or had an extreme reaction to the behaviours I can exhibit and feeling resentful, knowing how impossible it is to stop lashing out- that it isn’t always a choice or avoidable.
It’s true that setting boundaries for your behaviour is so important, coming as a person with BPD, without setting boundaries (and in the days where I had none) I treated people unfairly and at times, perhaps, cruelly.
Is it fair to make a permanent decision (cutting a person from your life) for an impermanent action (displaying uncomfortable or upsetting symptoms)?
As someone who fears abandonment, I fret about this kind of thing often. Am I less wanted because I’m not neurotypical? How many regard me as problematic?
Having a personality disorder, how do people separate me from the BPD?
Still, despite being diagnosed, I am labeled with the same stereotypes as I was pre-diagnosis, “attention seeking” being the biggest.
Struggling to control my anger brings a spotlight I never wanted, which isn’t really understood too well.

Dark Times.

I was at work a few nights ago and a service user was watching the news, it was a piece regarding domestic violence and how the current situation is worsening situations for victims and making reaching out for help harder than ever.
I felt immediately nauseous. When in an abusive relationship, I felt housebound for a variety of reasons. There was true fear whenever I left for short periods but still, I was never truly in a position where I had to spend 24/7 with my abuser, even if I did have to deal with consequences for having my own space.
I could feel myself starting to tear up and took a step outside.
I cannot imagine how our current circumstances are affecting victims, whether it be men, women or children.

I know that my abuser could not handle a situation like we’re in and had I still been there, the violence would have undoubtedly increased severely.

I reflect on times where we did have to spend every moment together, for whatever reason that may have been, there were times he was the only person I had any communication with.
I remember not sleeping, watching him sleep, praying he’d sleep an hour longer- because even that one extra hour was a little moment longer of being safe.
Hiding in the bathroom as frequently as possible, the only room that you could have some form of privacy, until that was also taken.
The constant anxiety. Wanting to stay quiet, to not provoke an attack, but knowing that silence also angered him.

A quick Google search will show you a plethora of articles about the rise in domestic violence and the risks right now. How do we house victims? How can we help support?

For those in the UK who are struggling, if you cannot call 999, the government advise the following:

If you are in danger and unable to talk on the phone, call 999, and then press 55. This will transfer your call to the relevant police force who will assist you without you having to speak.

I think, maybe.

Unbalanced and raw.

I don’t know what it is about you that captures me. It was an immediate feeling, a closeness I couldn’t quite explain. It was new to me but something I was so moved by.

A genuine friendliness and care, you’re a pure person. A good person. Something I’ve not come across very often in my life, something I found myself desperate to hold onto.

Like magnets, we were.

I couldn’t fathom your interest in me. I am broken, horrifically fucked up and tortured. A mess who cries every other moment, chronically sad.

You sparked a light in me, I guess that’s why I’m feeling the way I do now. So simple, yet the change was overwhelming. Wanting to be better, believing I was good, believing I could achieve. I often wonder whether I would’ve found such positivity on my own.

Despite all that was so lovely, I couldn’t escape the monsters. They followed me, infected me.

For all that you were and are, I was drowning in your perfection. I couldn’t keep up, how could I? You challenged everything I was taught to think about myself, I felt joy and rage, simultaneously.

I knew I was going to lose, I couldn’t stop pushing. I couldn’t be content, couldn’t practice patience, the happiness I felt caused panic. 

Part of me wanting you to hate me, wouldn’t it save the heartache, in the long run? I was always so aware of the hold you had over me, have over me still. How easily this all could destroy me.

I always thought that I’d be so delighted to meet someone like you. And I was. Am.

But I have never been more confused. How to cope, what to express? It was easier to push back and run, so I did.

You have inspired so much in me. I have never shown such an honest version of myself, I couldn’t hide from the paranoia, laying all my flaws out for you to see.

But for all the compliments you give, I can’t see what you see. I am embarrassed of myself, who I am, who I’ve been. Every tiny error I make.. How can you see past the damaged? To care about the woman so traumatised? The woman who is afraid of her own shadow but was able to put trust in you.

I try so hard to be fine. I smile and laugh, go with the flow.. That’s never been my style though, I overthink, over analyse. I dedicate so much of myself to things I truly believe in, you became one of those things. How to stop thinking of you the way I do? How to turn off that special smile I give, the laughter only you bring out?

I felt so nervous, it never stopped. You wanted me but all I could think was how I never wanted that to stop, how long would it take for me to ruin it.

I was falling, I knew it wasn’t right. Time and time again, I told myself to hold back, to stop. Months later, I’m still demanding of myself the same thing. I feel so weakened by you, it’s always been so intense, in one way or another.

Now? Nothing, I play the same game of hide-the-feelings, feeling so insincere. A rebellion nature, I’ve never been one to not speak my mind, now I mustn’t. It’s a strange place to be sat, this state of mind, feeling like I’m doing everything right and everything wrong.

Each day feels a misstep and I feel lonely by the shift that’s occurred, so subtle, yet so blatent. Barely making a noise but somehow echoing those things no longer said.



I’ve never really been one to kick up a fuss.
Even now, I’d rather say “yes” to every favour, every event I don’t have the energy to attend, it rarely crosses my mind that I have the ability to say no.

People say there’s a lot of power in the word “no” but I can’t really relate to that.
I could count the times on my hand where that word has actually been respected after coming from my mouth.
Maybe I’m a pushover, too nice, too quiet? Does it matter?

I think I was conditioned to believe, from a young age, that my word meant nothing.
Stay back. Say nothing. Just listen.
I still find it hard to make conversations. Not because I have nothing to say, I always have a million and one thoughts, but because I stop myself.
Stay back. Say nothing. Just listen.

This belief has shaped my life so much, the very reason, if you ever needed one, to always encourage children to speak. To be open.
If I wasn’t so timid, so lacking in confidence, how different would things have been?
The sexual encounters I never wanted but too afraid to say “no”,
The times I’ve driven myself crazy for the sake of others,
Never avoiding red flags because surely I’m always the one in the wrong,
Always allowing myself to be confined to such a small box.

While I’m glad to be back in my hometown, I’m not.
This place has never been for me. I don’t belong here, will never settle. Cannot trust the people. Too many memories.
Five days a week, I have to walk the exact same route where I was sexually assaulted.
I have to walk paths where I’ve broken down, cried, ran away.
And each time I walk them, I can picture the scenes so vividly.

Stranger In My Dreams.

Nightmares again last night.
Same ones as before.
I’m alone, in bed, and an intruder finds his way into my home.
I can feel the fear pulsate through my entire body.
Wake up, shaken, not knowing whether I’ll be able to get back to sleep.
Even knowing why I have this dream, it doesn’t help. Clearly it’s a metaphor for how unsafe I feel, regardless of location, how I’m always afraid.

Thinking various things today. Very paranoid. I just feel like there’s just no way people can like me. If they do, why? What’s their goal? What do they want from me? What are their motives? It’s almost impossible to believe that people actually just want to know me for me.
I feel very embarrassed by my depression and mood swings. I just don’t want to bother people but I feel I do. Even if they say I don’t. I’m a tiring person, I exhaust people. I bet people constantly weigh up the pros and cons having me in their life, like, “yeah, she’s funny but she does talk about depressing shit all the time” or something. I don’t know.
Socially, I feel totally fucked. A load of unread messages and texts because I just don’t want to reach out- not because of them, I just feel like people deserve better than having me around.
Even writing this, I’m aware of how childish I must sound. How I should shake myself up and remind myself others feel this way too.. But that doesn’t stop me feeling this way. It doesn’t stop the pain I’m feeling. All my head is saying, “if you’re alone, if you cut everyone out, they’ll be happier. You stress them all out.”

I’m having my little sister ’round my place for a sleepover tonight, she’s so excited. She’s been weird with me ever since I’ve been back. She didn’t see me for years, so it’s understandable but there’s nothing more fucking cutting than hearing someone you love say that you scare them.
That’s how she felt for a pretty long time.
The times she saw me, in those days I was secretly being abused, I was so volatile and explosive. Crying at nothing. Losing my temper over small things. I was so consumed, I didn’t realise what she was seeing. I wasn’t Lucy, her sister, I had become a stranger. One that intimidated her. Put her on edge.
I’m ashamed.

Christmas Eve.

The build up to Christmas hasn’t been a pleasant one. I had a brief moment, a week or so, where I felt deliriously happy-

I feel embarrassed when these times end. It’s like people get a brief glimpse seeing who they want me to be. I guess I do, too.

I’m fighting so hard not to isolate myself. Keep telling myself it’s not the right time to be depressed, how selfish of me. I feel like a monster with all these fucking emotions. People can’t handle them. I certainly can’t handle them.

I’m tired of being me. I spend a lot of my time in a daydream, just to escape.

My body is tired, my mind is so tired.

Shouldn’t have stayed with family last night, I was so awful this morning. Money woes had me fucked up. The stress hit me. Sensory overload. Everything became too much, much too quick. Every small noise felt like it was being screamed down my ears. I just kept snapping, “shut the fuck up. SHUT THE FUCK UP”

I haven’t stopped thinking about drinking. I don’t drink that much, truly, but I want to. Anything to leave this reality for a few hours.

It’s Been Awhile.

Does anyone still follow this? God, it’s been so long. It’s been hard to come back to, honestly.

When I started this and for the large majority of writing this, I was in a very violent and abusive relationship. I felt guilty about writing here again.

All the false words I wrote about how in love I was, how safe he made me feel. All empty. I felt guilty because I wanted to dedicate this blog to the truth but I was living such a lie.

I left in June. June the 16th. A date that’ll forever be in my head. A date that signified so much, a beginning and an end.

It’s brought joy and more fear.

Again, I’m wrapped up with the police. Awaiting to hear whether my domestic violence case against my ex will be taken to court. I hope. I found out so much when I left, how many others he’d done it to.

I feel like a new person, both good and bad.

I’m me, once again, living life as myself. For myself.

But I’m haunted. I’m never the same. Never will be.

Half past midnight.

I am having a lot of intrusive thoughts and flashbacks but I’m trying not to let it all control me.
Questioning whether I’m a strong or weak person, what does it mean to be “weak”?
Am I weak, simply because I’ve been hurt by many people? Does that make me naive? Am I deserving?
People have always commented that I have a tendency to “live in the past” which is true but I believe only because I’ve never felt like I’ve been allowed closure to so many things.
Explanations with absence of blame and deflection. Apologies that were backed by changed behaviour.
Most people in my life have took advantage of my over emotional soul, I think. Seen the shit I’ve been through and think, “surely my shit won’t hurt, she’s took on so much already”
In fact, I’ve actually had multiple people straight up admit this, in similar words.
But the thing is, if you know what someone’s been through, surely you’d want to break the cycle of hurt and pain? You cannot respect what you call a person’s “strength” whilst also taking advantage, adding more woe, knowing it is what they’re “used to”.
I’m thinking about a lot of things, really. That I always saw myself as an open person but really, if I’m honest with myself, it was only a superficial version of openness. I was/am still only allowing to be seen what I feel suitable/comfortable with.
And although I may cry and feel with ferocity, I don’t actually express it. I laugh or fold into stubborn silence. I think I’m probably quite emotionally closed and stunted and I’m not entirely sure how to grow through that yet.
I wonder what kind of person that makes me, a selfish one? Do I care more about defending myself than the people trying, ever frustratingly, to break down my walls?
Do I appreciate them? I do, although you wouldn’t always recognise it. Genuine attempts at kindness met with sarcasm and self deprecation. A display of true emotion met with a distant, standoffish aura.
That’s another thing, I suppose, I have to be honest about. Many people have called me “cold” in my life.