Coal for Christmas.

5 days until Christmas and do I feel festive? Not one bit. Morose, empty, very depressed.
I can’t tell anyone, I can’t ruin their Christmas.
That’s all I do, really, ruin how people are feeling, I’m sure of it.
Burdening people with the weight of my mental health, the stress I put them through..
I hate my mind. Last few days all I’ve thought about is how I don’t want to be here, I don’t see a purpose, I don’t deserve it, and I see no worthwhile future.
I’ve tried to help myself out but I’ve been in a permanent state of exhaustion, constantly wanting to sleep every moment away.
I’m going to be 23 in February and I just don’t know if I want to see any more years.
I can’t explain how awful I feel and even if I did try and explain, I’m sick of it just being taken for selfishness.
My life up until this point has been disaster after disaster. Tired of being hurt, tiring of hurting others unintentionally because I can’t just be normal or healthy.
I’m actually not adding anything to anyone’s lives at this point. Just disappointing and disappointing.
You can throw all the therapy at me in the world, I’ll put my whole heart into it, but will it change anything? Or will it just be another temporary relief then back to square one?
I just want to push everyone away, so I don’t drag them down any longer.



What is up with me tonight? I feel all over the place.
Having very random thoughts.
I keep fantasising about drinking myself into oblivion, what I loved about drinking was that I could just forget. No matter how long I go without drinking, I always miss it. Miss just not knowing who the fuck I am, just being a blurred human incapable of even stringing a sentence together.
Thinking about running away. Where would I go? Nowhere, of course, I’m just so exhausted by living.
Feel like I’m destined to repeat the same cycles. How many times have I been told to “stop living in the past”. Ha, if only things were so simple. Most people are so wrapped in their own bubbles they have no idea how extensive trauma can affect you and how it really isn’t as simple as just “moving on”.
I’ve been so broken for so long, I don’t think I can be repaired. What is the point?
I can’t stand the judgement, can’t stand the critical voices, can’t stand people telling me how I should deal and react to things. To always have people assuming who I am, wanting me to be different, just not accepting.
I know how people think of me. That I’m negative, hopeless, addicted to my own turmoil. I wish I could just let them think what they want and not let their words cut me so deep.
I am so fucked up. I am a complete mess. I am really a failure to everyone and myself.
The pain I feel in my heart drowns out all other noise.
I am a fractured human and I hate living in a world where I don’t belong, I cannot live up to anyone’s standards, I cannot live up to my own.
Those who do care, are just dragged down by my darkness, but I can’t get better at a quick enough pace that won’t hurt others in the time in between. The closer you get to me, the closer the darkness will infect you too.
There is a reason I keep to myself.

Sexual Abuse Advocate

So, the sexual abuse advocate came and she was AMAZING.

She’s going to help me apply for PIP and support me for as long as I need.

She’s referred me to two different counselling places and she’s speaking with my mental health team and explaining that I need better care because although I may appear high functioning, I am also having difficulty in many areas in my life and my mental health has been unsupported for too long under their services.

We spoke about my childhood and she was so caring. She helped me understand I grew up in a household that was full of domestic violence, even though it wasn’t physical, it was still 100% domestic violence towards me, my mother, and my siblings.

That’s one of the things I’ll be receiving counselling for.

I explained what happened with my police case when I reported him and the event and leading up to it and after. She told me that sadly, only 6% of sexual assault cases get taken to court. She did say she could check with social services and see if they’re still safe guarding my siblings and try and find out if they’re being protected long term. That she thinks he had been grooming me from a young age, hence why he made me drink regularly from age 11 onwards and that he was a “typical predator type”. That he spent time cleverly convincing family and others that what I said couldn’t be trusted because of my mental health issues and that his emotional abuse was to weaken and isolate me. That he made me drink the night it happened to weaken my case against him, just like how he made me smoke a joint (which I pretended to smoke) after he did it to make me seem even more unreliable to others. That it was calculated and well thought out.

That his abuse of my mother is unfortunately why she has stood by him but I did the right thing for my mental health to get out of the situation and report him.

She confirmed my questions about other incidents with him- such as him coming into my room to “talk to me” whilst I was naked (I was getting ready to go out to a friend’s) and he refused to leave the room even though I was naked and stood looking at me..

And when he would make constant comments about my breasts growing up.
That I wasn’t exaggerating or being “too sensitive”, that he is abusive and what he put us all through is and was abuse and he groomed and specific chose to assault me because he saw my vulnerability. He saw the lack of support in my mental health and knew he could twist and make it seem like I was just a bad child who made up stories. He knew exactly what he was doing.
I feel relieved. It was cathartic and she was wonderful. I feel heard and she really took it all seriously, she understood what I was saying and she helped me understand what he did to me a little more and reassure me I did the right thing.


Woke up in the worst mood.
A “what’s the fucking point mood?”
A few years ago, I was on track in life, felt secure in myself, life was manageable.
Through a cluster fuck of confidence destroying events, I’m the fucking jobless, insecure loser you see today.
Maybe I am stuck in somewhat of a victim mentality and that’s why I can’t heal but how can I move on from everything? It’s an empty, repetitive existence and I hate it.
I hate that I’ve let people tear apart everything I was and they’ll never get it, never understand what they did, never take responsibility.
Then again, they could apologise a thousand times over and it would mean almost nothing to me because they still did it. They’ll still try and avoid that they made me the pathetic mess I am today. It’ll be my fault, somehow.
In their eyes, I’ll just not be trying hard enough, or living in the past, or choosing to be this way.
Well, I never asked for or deserved any of the awful shit.
I used to be stable and healthy, you think it’s a coincidence?
And now I am truly ill because of people’s actions, nobody wants to deal with it or they feign support but only as a means of relinquishing their own guilt.
Probably can’t move on with my life because all I’ll ever be told is that I’m not well enough, not allowed to try new things, explore different passages in life, be a person because all people narrow me down to is mental illness.
I’m not crazy, and even if I was doing amazingly well, people wouldn’t believe it. Constantly having to prove myself in every little aspect, what a fucking life that is.
Being treated like a freak, people not even trusting me to make friends because of THEIR own judgements about my illness, thinking I’ll embarrass myself or get triggered around people or kick off or some shit. I’m relatively normal, so why do I keep being treated like I’m not? Like I’m incapable of living like a regular person? It’s so demeaning, so insulting.
People think I live in my own bubble, that isn’t true, I’ve been confined to the bubble. People telling me what and who I am. Telling me what I am and aren’t capable of. Restricting my growth.
Wish I was dead.

Festive Woes

It gets difficult at night. Always at night.

So many bad dreams.
I can’t tell if I’m excited for Christmas or apprehensive.
Maybe both.
It’s weird, any time of “big” celebration, birthdays, christmasses, etc, has always made me feel a little empty inside, the classic borderline void seems to grow, and I can’t really put my finger on why. It’s been like this ever since I was a kid though.
Maybe it’s because the year is coming to and end and I feel I’ve accomplished absolutely nothing.
I woke up during the night and in the darkness, I felt so alone with my thoughts, and I suddenly became overwhelmed by the thought of, “Can I do this forever? Do I want to? Do I see a future? My past has been bleak, the bad outweighs the good for the most part, and I don’t think I can escape it. I don’t think I belong here, life is only going to get harder, and I don’t want to always be drowning in my own misery for the rest of my life”
Cue to thoughts of suicide. Ones I’ll never go through with, of course.
But I don’t fear the thoughts, I just feel relieved and free.
It’s no fun living with a brain that cannot slow down, cogs constantly turning, every minor thing feels like a catastrophe.
Despite how much I complain, I feel a deep closeness with myself. My own best friend and my own worst enemy, I always say. I hate the way my mind works, yet I love the way my mind works.

Cash Flow

How am I doing? Hard to answer that. I mean, I feel good, but what does my subconscious think?

I don’t feel sad, empty, or lost.

I feel quite chipper, honestly.

But fuck, the spending. I cannot stop. Or maybe I can, I just don’t want to. It makes me feel good but it’s strange, I’m used to spending excessively when I’m depressed, trying to fill the void but this isn’t the same. I’m not trying to fill anything, it’s just greed.

£50 on clothes, £15 on make up, I couldn’t even count the cost of how much I splurge on food..  I just want more and more things. They don’t have to be costly items, I could easily spend the entire contents of my purse in Poundland. Spending just makes me feel so damn good, makes me feel like a whole person, makes me feel.. I dunno, grown up? Maybe it’s a control thing. Maybe it’s a craving for some independence? Who knows?

In my worst depression, I didn’t buy anything for myself and shunned gifts. There was nothing I wanted, nothing I felt I deserved. I didn’t want new clothes or make up because I didn’t want to be seen.

Perhaps I’m thinking about it all too deeply and critical, what if I’m just treating myself a little? Sure, it feels like a compulsion, but is it really? I’m not running myself into debt, I’m just being less strict with myself.

I think it just concerns me how much I enjoy spending. I do get irritable and pouty if I can’t, childlike behaviour. Drives me mad because I don’t consider myself a particularly materialistic person.


Been feeling slightly anxious all day, no direct cause. I was expecting it, my “comedown” from feeling so good for the past week or two, if that makes sense to anyone. There’s always a comedown.
I tried to keep my irritability at bay but found myself losing my temper over very little.
And feelings of shame associated with those bursts of anger.
I took myself off into my bedroom, to cool off, but ended up getting myself more worked up.
I tried explaining to R why I was feeling so strange, he was lovely, but I couldn’t quite convey what I meant.
I was jumping back and forth from anger to despair.
I kept saying to him, “you don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me. Nobody does. Why? I feel so.. Different.. But I don’t feel like anybody else picks up on how “different” I am. I want people to know I’m different. I’m not like everyone else. I have potential, I just–”
I could barely get my words out, it was just rambling, that really didn’t mean anything. I’m not sure why I was saying it, or why I felt that way.
I just felt such frustration in that moment, like an alien, like nobody could comprehend me as an individual.
It was a little delusional, if I’m honest. Not quite arrogance but just a feeling like I’m special and a desperate need for others to acknowledge it.
Not the first time I’ve seen an “episode”(?) like this but it always brings me mixed emotions. Embarrassment, confusion, exhaustion, sadness, emptiness.
And a little voice wondering whether there’s any sense in my madness.

Numbers on a scale

Heard a salted caramel doughnut calling my name 👀
I’m still keeping to a healthy amount of calories, haven’t skipped a day yet BUT I realised that my mind was always pushing for me and I was trying to battle these secret thoughts.
Instead of being happy with my progress, it was never enough.
I didn’t feel proud of myself, I felt more disgusted than ever.
I forgot the most important thing, weight does not determine your self worth.
I had been telling myself, “just lose one more pound and I’ll be closer to being a worthy person”
I’ve been struggling with depressive thoughts these past few weeks because I’ve had to challenge what I’d wired my brain to think.
Do I want to lose weight? Yes, of course. But is it the only thing that matters? NO! Am I ugly because I have a few extra pounds? NO! Should I hide myself away, do I deserve to have such self loathing and social anxiety because of a number on a scale? FUCK NO!
It’s hard for me to find a balance between healthy and obsessive, I’ll be honest.
In many ways, I know if I hadn’t been bullied for my weight & appearance so constantly as a child, I wouldn’t struggling so much as an adult.
I can’t change what happened in my past but I can determine my future. Their words do not have to echo in my mind every time I look into a mirror.
I will learn to love myself.


When the body dysmorphia hits:

I’m such a hideous monster.
I know people mean well when they try to motivate me but I don’t feel it’s possible.
I’m stuck in this disgusting body and I always will be.
I can buy all the clothes I want, wear all the make up, but I’ll still look this sickening.
I despise my existence. I hate that I can’t take the time to care about others in my life because I’m just so damn consumed about how ugly I am.
Every piece of me is just fat. My puffy face with the massive double chin. Chubby fingers, hands, arms, legs- ha, I used to always get complimented on how slender my legs were- now they’re just tree trunks. Awful stomach, I don’t touch alcohol but it certainly looks like I’ve got a beer belly.
Nothing I wear looks good on me, it just isn’t possible. I don’t look feminine or pretty at all.
Stupid fucking overbite with crooked teeth, forehead that’s way too heavy and makes me look deformed.
How can I eat? How can I keep shoveling food inside my repulsive body? But I still fucking do.
Can’t cut calories down because I get really nauseous and lightheaded, really weak.
I’m so ashamed of myself, for both sides of the coin: Ashamed for letting myself be so wrapped up in all of this and ashamed that I’ve let myself become so ugly.
I thought I was on a good track, thought I was making progress in a healthy way.. Well, I was, but it seemed to stop working. I stopped seeing results. I feel like a complete failure.

Moments later, with a dramatic mood shift:

Feeling a bit of a tit.
Ended up opening up completely to R about how I’ve been feeling and cried a lot.
Felt like I really needed that cry, to be honest.

Then later on that day:

My head is still a mess.
I feel so confused and lost.
I’m still struggling to see a future.
If this is all my life is ever going to be, I don’t want it.

When certain times make you question whether bipolar should be considered part of your diagnoses:

I am wide awake.
I was feeling incredibly sad, so took myself to bed, then I just got this massive rush of energy.
So, for the past 2 house I’ve been dancing round my bedroom with earphones in. Hate it when this happens, always leaves me feeling so nauseous but gotta get the energy out.
Also feel good about myself when I’m listening to music, like I forget who I am, and I can pretend I’m pretty for awhile. That part is nice.

I was asked once by my mental health worker if I suffer from mania, I didn’t know enough about it at the time, so I said no. They told me what I’d described to different workers would potentially line up with that diagnosis but I just wasn’t clued up. I think she may have been right. BPD and bipolar… And everything else, I must have made some enemies in a past life, eh?

Thoughts on “family”

I’m coping okay today. Well, so far, so good.
I’m a little sad because I spoke with my nan and she was telling me about all their Christmas plans with my family- of course, I’m not invited. After how they’ve treated me, you’d think it wouldn’t hurt, but it does. I’m glad my nan is so kind to me but at this rate, it’s not likely I’ll ever see her in person again. At least, not for a long time. Don’t have the funds and I highly doubt my granddad would drive to where I live- but yet, he can sit at the same table and pull Christmas crackers with a man that emotionally abuses and intimidates his daughter and sexually assaulted his granddaughter.
I guess everyone’s sick of hearing me talk about it now but that’s the thing about being forced into silence and acceptance- when you break free from that, you want to speak up about whatever happened to you all the goddamn time. You want to repeat your story until your voice is hoarse.

A conversation between me and my nan’s sister.
She doesn’t know the situation between myself and my family, that they cut ties with me after I spoke out. She doesn’t know about what he did or anything like that.
She’s under the impression that we don’t speak because I don’t live in my home town anymore and I’m busy doing other things- which is very sad and so far from the truth.
However, I’m pretty sure if I told her the truth, my nan would kick off and I could potentially lose her as well. It’s a very fucked up situation.
So, Lillie is my little sister, we were insanely close- her and my brother were motivation for me to report what their father did to me, to ensure an investigation and safe guarding would be put in place for their well-being.
She told me that Lillie constantly asks about me, says she misses me, and she can’t understand why she isn’t allowed to speak to me (my mother and HIM don’t want their kids knowing the truth)
God, I miss her and I suppose it is a positive that she hasn’t been brainwashed against me, that’s always a fear for me.
That one part sticks out in my head: “Where is she?” “Rotherham” “I know that but where is she?” So young but so smart. She knows where I am geographically but doesn’t understand where I am in her life (or where I’m not).


All in all, I can’t give an answer on how I am. Both bad and good. Both happy and sad- and all that is in between.

I often feel like I’m going crazy, to feeling absolutely fine and stable, and maybe this is something I should be used to by now.

Still no appointments for mental health care, so I’ve taken to tracking my moods and trying to jot down most of my thoughts.

Earlier, I considered, that maybe I’m doing okay but sabotaging my own happiness because I’m afraid. I feel that makes sense.



I haven’t been sleeping much, far too restless.

I’ve felt the familiar anxiety creeping and stalking my every move.

Anxious about my appearance, but oh, what’s new about that? I’m growing increasingly concerned my teeth are going to fall out.. for no particular reason. A few weeks ago, I had a similar fear that I was losing all my hair. Still uncomfortable with my weight, linking numbers on a scale to self worth.

I came to a halt in writing my book. Really, I don’t think there’d be much point. Writing is a hobby, sure, but no more than that. I think I’m relatable, for some, but I’m not revolutionary by any means. My book would just be me regurgitating the same shit you hear from anyone who documents their struggles with mental health.

I’ve definitely got a lot of energy but no outlet. I still don’t get out much.

I’m talking to people more but who knows how long that’ll last? I am really trying to make an effort but it definitely feels super difficult to make friends at this age- so, you know, feel free to reach out if you live near me in South Yorks, lol.

I’ve been spending a bit. Focused entirely on clothing, which isn’t a negative as such because I rarely buy myself clothing. I pretty much gave up on that once I’d gained weight, didn’t see point in taking any pride in my appearance, when all I felt was repulsion.

My head feels so “full” at times. Just bursting with pressure. Not a headache, just a distinct, heavy feeling, which can really be bothersome. Makes me have strange thoughts. Like, I can see myself cutting my skull open to relieve this “pressure”. I just have fantasies about the pressure seeping out, and even though it must be all psychosomatic, it does feel  a little better. It’s very difficult to explain, I don’t tell anyone, they’d never understand it, they’d think I was insane. Maybe it’s a stress or anxiety thing but I’ve felt it on and off for years. It’s often followed by this intense longing to escape my own mind. God, even I think I sound fucking mental, which is ironic because I’m probably in the best place mentally than I have been the past 2 or so years.