Dissociative disorders. They are dangerous and terrifying and confusing. They are not ‘oh I’m just dissociating’ or a funny joke like ‘haha I just dissociated for like 5 minutes’. I am diagnosed with DPDR (derealization-depersonalization) and it is pure and utter grief. It’s acting like another person entirely because you’ve lost your presence so much that all you can do is make physcial contact with people and say unusual things. It’s waking up in the night and sitting for hours not sure if you are real or who you are anymore. It’s hurting yourself because you’re not sure if you’re real anymore. It’s not knowing if your voice is yours or someone else’s. It’s like my body is completely disconnected from my mind and sometimes I have no idea whether the cracking of my knuckles is the sound of someone clicking a pen. It’s so much more than just feeling spaced out. It’s being stuck in your mind for hours not knowing how to get back to reality. I find it so scary that I could live my whole life with this response to distress just because of traumas and traumas that have built up in my life. It’s not a joke, it’s not something to be taken lightly. It’s a serious mental illness and it’s hell. I’m fighting it with all I can but it’s fucking hard. I am determined that one day I will be free of this. 💙
I love showers in the morning
I love being too cold and then too hot again
Watching the silver dirt run down the plughole
Running off my cheeks, lips and neck
Washing it all away
Washing the dirt out of my hair
Washing all the dirty dirty flowers out of my hair
Tangled ivy stripped off my scalp by the chemicals and water
I’m uprooting and I’m regrowing and I’m drowning
All of my dirty dirty flowers.
This house is haunted.
There are doors that slam in the night and
I feel cold hands slip into mine
from time to time
This house is cold and
I am followed by a ghost that
Makes me shed my skin from now and again
But it is far from dead
It is alive and screaming in the evenings
An unhappy family is a noisy one.
This body is haunted
No need for a costume
I have a wardrobe full of masks and capes and witches hats
To keep me warm on a cold night
Footsteps run from the back of my head to my eyeballs
And voices loud enough to make me shake
My body feels like a skeleton on bad days
My body is a skeleton some months
My mind is haunted
My brain a living nightmare playing over and over and over
And there is no running away from a mind you can’t escape
There are no nightlights in my head to keep the monsters away
Even on days where the only sound I know is
the beating of my heart on the inside of my skull
But I am not scared of monsters
You learn to steady the tremble
And sit through the jump scares
And wait for the morning
~Living in a household of abuse and shouting almost constantly is no way to live~
A shout (a low voice)
A shout (a higher one)
Is all it takes for me
To become the size of a penny
And for the roof to come crashing down
A little penny
Rolling between his fingertips
Rolling down the stairs
Chased by a cat with moons in her eyes
Cold and metallic
Like blood in my mouth
Rolling with my thighs and feet up in the air
Inside a piggy bank
With no plug to pull
And I will roll away
Exactly one year ago, give a day or two, I relapsed yet again, hopefully for the last time ever. I have lost 5 years of my life to this illness and I refuse to listen to my anorexia. Since relapsing I have developed and intensified my countless other mental illnesses. But I will not do this anymore. I hope I never relapse. I don’t want to be anorexic anymore, I don’t want to be skinny, I don’t want to sick and I definitely don’t want to waste anymore of my life. I am so much more than my anorexia and each day I get stronger and it gets weaker. I look back on my relapse with sadness. That I thought that was the answer to my misfortune. I am recovering (almost recovered from my anorexia) because I love laughing, I love writing, reading, being cosy and warm, comfortable, safe and happy. I am recovering and I WILL recover. Goodbye anorexia, this is me finally letting go.
When it rains I feel better
Tears streaming down window pains
Someone to cry with
My face turned up to the clouds, mouth open,
Gulping rainwater until I have to stop for breath
A tummy full of clouds almost kicks the feeling out of me
The feeling of things I should have done and have yet to do
Sticky sweet taste in my mouth that stops me from speaking
Someone to cry with
Some days recovery is a field. And a yellow weed is growing in a beautiful ploom in the centre.
It takes your energy and all of your strength to pull the weed (as beautiful and wild as it seems) out of the ground. But when you turn around there are hundreds of new weeds, some of them yellow, some of them green and blue and purple and crimson, sprouting up from the earth.
Then you realise you need a helping hand to get rid of the weeds. You enlist family, friends, therapists and doctors to help you clear your field. It feels good to have a helping hand.
From time to time weeds pop up here and there but now you have a team to help you pluck them away and help the earth beneath you heal. As seasons change and sun shines the condition of the field changes and varies but it always remains your field.
And soon you see flowers blooming on the grass in vibrant colours and shades. A fiesta of energy and life.
Other days recovery is a battlefield.