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smittenswithmittens · 2 years

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What does it mean to be, a ‘good person’?

I have nightmares every night; about things that have happened. Things that I’m afraid of happening. Twisted visions of long forgotten, blacked out trauma, which cause me to wake up crying, shaking…the bed drenched in sweat.

I feel sick and scared every single morning when I wake up. Sometimes I remember little bits from the dreams, slight details, but they are so vivid I can’t establish what is dream and what is reality; what is a genuine memory, what is my mind trying to piece together jigsaw pieces of deeply suppressed information…what is purely fictional nonsense.

I am in the process of beginning counselling with a charity that specialises in speaking to victims of sexual assault and abuse. I am terrified that they won’t believe me, or blame my past BPD-related impulsive behaviours for the ways I have been treated by men over the past thirty-two years. They will say, ‘you shouldn’t walk home alone’, ‘you shouldn’t drink too much’, ‘you shouldn’t be so naive’.

I grew up under the impression that there were Good, and Bad people. And you would know the difference instantly if you saw the two compared. ‘Bad’ people would look scary - sort of like that stereotypical ‘Robber Red’ character, with a mask and a stripy jumper and a black sack. ‘Good’ people were friendly and caring and had families and careers and whatever else…

I suppose now that I am ‘grown up’, I swing in my opinions of everybody I meet. So, I guess a part of me fights those feelings of seeing a person in extremes, and thus try to believe that, even in the worst people, there is some inherent goodness in them…they have their own past and experiences which have led them to make the decisions they make, and they at least WANT to be…their own version of ‘moral’. If I am taken advantage of, or mistreated by another person, I constantly try to justify their behaviours in my head - convincing myself that I must somehow be the person at fault, or that I am Evil. I deserve any pain and misery that is thrown at me.

I am in no way insinuating that I am innocent, or that I’ve never made a mistake or mistreated somebody else…quite the opposite. I HATE myself, and how my mental illness takes over my life; seemingly damaging everybody who comes into contact with me.

But…I also want to acknowledge that, despite making mistakes, nobody deserves to be abused like that. I don’t deserve it, just like you don’t deserve it. No child deserves to be touched intimately by an adult. No teenager deserves to be raped because they’re wearing a skirt. And equally, if a mentally ill person overreacts to a situation, or they confuse someone with their emotional reactions…they don’t deserve to be screamed at, assaulted, belittled, publicly shamed and humiliated, or taken advantage of in any way, shape or form. No, you cannot simply overlook bad behaviour purely because the person is unwell. It is acceptable to voice your opinion; in a calm, collected manner. You can remove that person from your life should you find they are negatively affecting your own mental health or provoking aggressive emotional reactions.

But…abuse is abuse. I am trying hard not to witness people as inherently Good or Bad. Deserving and undeserving. Seeing the news today on the television, seeing the atrocities that take place every day…I don’t even know if there is such a thing as right and wrong. I no longer want to see myself as - ‘mentally ill, therefore, deserving of abuse’. I’m trying to recognise, using logic and a posteriori knowledge, that I will always have this illness that forces me to see things in a black-and-white manner…but I should fight against that urge to categorise the people I meet in such a basic, archaic way. Making a decision about a person should be a lengthy process; judging by their behaviour and actions over a long span of time.

In doing so, I want to be able to fully take responsibility for my past behaviours - and learn from my mistakes, recognising what my various triggers are and not making attachments to individuals or projects unless I am confident that I am in a stable mindset. But also, I want to come to terms with the fact that there will be always people who act cruelly towards others - regardless of whether they have a reason - and my living in shame and guilt for so many years, doesn’t help me, nor does it ultimately make what they did any better. There are ways to address conflict and confusion without violence and aggression. I want to treat people with respect, but also, expect the respect I deserve returned from other people.

Communication is so important, especially when dealing with an individual who is suffering internally. If your child gets upset and has a tantrum, you don’t beat them over the head and blame the fact that they were reacting inappropriately and causing a scene. Strangling an over-excitable dog doesn’t help the dog to understand what it has done wrong.

I have never really noticed before how poorly human beings treat each other. Animals. The planet. I’m not just saying this because I have a mood disorder. I genuinely wish more people would start communicating with each other and showing the respect that everybody deserves.

I don’t know if I will ever be a ‘Good’ person. But I can at least attempt to be respectful and compassionate, and straightforward about my needs when it comes to being honest with the people around me. I spent a long time trying to please everybody and be perfect…but ended up disappointing people with my inconsistencies and fallacies - creating an external persona I didn’t like or respect. Perhaps that’s why I felt it acceptable when people showed me such disrespect. I dunno.

Cigarette time.

Goodnight.

X

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smittenswithmittens · 2 years

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It’s a saddening thing; knowing perhaps you were never meant to become what you want to be. Those aspirations you had when you were younger…become nothing. Like dust. You live but you don’t live…a shell of what you once were.

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smittenswithmittens · 2 years

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It has been several months since I have written anything here, but reading through some of my past posts and messages, I feel I want to continue as I set out to do.

I haven’t self harmed since about May - so that’s really good for me. I’ve recently started counselling with a local organisation and have been trying to keep productive. I’ve been writing music and cooking food and generally, been considerably better and less erratic with my moods.

I still struggle with eating; I am now 9 stone, but feel I won’t be happy until I’m 7 stone. I skip meals and say I’m not hungry, but I am trying to focus more on eating healthier and not obsessing so much over others’ opinions of my body.

I rarely go out anywhere lately; on nights out and such, because I know I get anxious easily and panic and react badly to crowds. If I do go out, I try to stay self-aware and sober enough to know when to stop and go home. A few weeks ago, I was spiked and assaulted on the way home from the pub. I have no memory of what actually happened, but again, I was too afraid to go to the police or talk in detail to anybody about it because I felt it was my fault. I just brushed it under the proverbial rug and laughed about it; silly Samantha always getting beaten up by strangers. I was receiving abusive texts and calls for days after the event from an unknown number. I felt sick and couldn’t sleep or eat because I was so afraid; unaware of how anybody could have gotten my number and identity. I was paranoid and angry, and I still break down into tears if I am reminded of anything that happened that day. But sometimes, it’s easier to hide these things and joke about them to yourself rather than accept that you are confused and upset. I want to seem like a strong person, and my family and friends don’t need another setback in their lives. It was my fault for leaving the house. It was my fault for wearing a skirt…

A family member looks after my finances for me. It’s difficult; I hide it from people because I feel pathetic. I’m thirty-two and feel like a twelve year old. But it is necessary for the time being, as I know that if I get into a high mood or feel impulsive and reckless - I will spend all my money in one go and end up in debt again. Some days I don’t mind, but other days, I really struggle with the lack of independence.

I saw my old childhood best friend the other day, in her workplace. I had no idea she would be there. It felt strange; she is married now, with a mortgage and a good career. She seemed happy and I am pleased for her. She was…I suppose…a grown up.

But to me, just talking to her like a ‘grown up’ felt like we were still children, playing ‘house’. I wanted so badly to hug her; tell her I’m not okay, that I miss her friendship, that I miss seeing her every day on the walk to school and sharing music and talking about how much life sucks (as angsty teenagers do). I feel like I’m still stuck in that teenager mindset. I listen to music and write and I struggle just as much…I felt like she was my sister at one point. I thought we would always be friends. But now she’s an adult and she’s so far away from who we used to be. I sometimes feel life passes by so quickly, it leaves you behind sometimes. People leave you behind. She didn’t do anything wrong and I have nothing but love for her and anyone who used to be a friend in my earlier years; if anything, I was the person who pushed everybody away.

…yet, I feel there is nothing left behind from my childhood; I kinda accepted that a long time ago. Seeing her…it brought all these memories back. How I used to be a person. How things happened that we experienced together. How I used to have a future. I wish her all the best and I sincerely hope she is happy. I feel guilty that I was so caught off-guard by our interaction, and I hope that one day, she will understand why I was acting so weird and distant. I will always be grateful for her patience with me when we were little, before everything became so complicated…

I hope you are doing okay; whoever reads this.

X

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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It's 02:30am, and I'm thinking about suicide.

I had a good day yesterday. I woke up and made a cup of coffee. I took my pills. I decided to dye my hair bright red, so I did. It looked nice. I had a few drinks and listened to music in my bedroom. Nothing significant happened...it never does.

But all of a sudden, about half an hour ago, I started fantasizing about suicide and self-harm. I was thinking 'this night needs a bit of self-harm' as if I were contemplating ordering a pizza or buying four more cans. Sometimes, you can be feeling absolutely fine but still want to self-harm and contemplate death. I guess you could say that that's not normal and I should speak to someone about it. But it is what it is. There was no trigger; I am not particularly depressed or upset about anything right now. I just yearn to feel the cool breeze of death. The relief. The end of the struggle. Everything is a struggle.

A lot of people over the years have said I don't seem that ill; I don't seem that depressed or anxious or paranoid. If I cover up my scars and stick some make-up on, I look like an average unremarkable person you might see in the street. I like to think I look friendly and approachable, or at least NORMAL. I want to fit in. I want to look average.

But underneath all the clothes and make-up and hair dye, I am such a conflicted person. I constantly think about ways to kill myself; even if I don't act upon them. I wonder what people would say. I wonder if people would be happy or sad. I wonder if I would be remembered. But at the same time, there's a beauty in knowing I'd never know either way. I won't be anything. Just dead. I yearn to be dead.

I don't always need a reason to feel suicidal. I mean, I've suffered a lot of trauma and loss in my life. But those factors don't always keep me up at night. Some days I feel okay; like I can leave the house without worries or anxiety. Some days I feel really great. But there is always something darker, burning underneath my skin and behind my eyes. I will be making a cup of coffee in the kitchen and open the utensils drawer to get a teaspoon. I'll see the knives and think how great it'd feel to just sneak one upstairs. I'll be reminded of the release it makes me feel when I cut myself. It's like a drug. It is an addiction. It's my addiction. Slicing into my veins just shallow enough to not do any serious damage is dangerous but I love it; it makes me feel more in control in a world where I am so small and out of control. It makes me feel like I have some say in my fate.

I act recklessly because I have this constant thought in my head saying 'it's okay. You can kill yourself if it goes wrong.' I'll make stupid decisions and flirt with danger because I know that any day now, I will be gone. I will disappear and nothing will matter anymore. I spend money impulsively as if every day is my last. It's hard, because on the one hand I like to think I'll be better one day and will achieve so much and be a good, upstanding citizen with a career and a family and a dog. But at the same time, the thought of killing myself overpowers my desire to lead a normal life. I want to go out with a bang. I don't want to be ordinary. Live fast and die young. All that. I am a contradiction.

I have no current plans to take my own life. Not right now, anyway. But the dream is always there. I remember, at school, being asked what I wanted to do once I had grown up. Some kids would say they wanted to be footballers, or hairdressers, or singers. But I always, for as long as I can remember, wanted to leave this life behind. I wanted to take my own life and be this mystery to people - this weird individual who had no way out. I wanted to be the lost girl.

In recent years, I have thought more rationally about suicide. I am aware that my death would hurt people, and I would hate to inflict that sort of trauma onto anybody. However, in thinking rationally about my life, I have concluded that it WOULD be appropriate for me to take my own life; given that I have acted so shamefully in the past. I have hurt so many people. I have shut people out, acted cruel, been dismissive...I have not been a good person to everyone. I feel like, in death, those individuals I hurt would perhaps feel glad in knowing that I was genuinely sorry - and that I hadn't forgotten my misbehaviour. I desperately seek atonement.

What do I do with this? Obviously I won't kill myself right this second. I always have an excuse, and more often than not, I sincerely cannot be bothered to kill myself. I am too tired and miserable to project that sort of productivity. I am aware that something needs to change; I need to either:

A) kill myself

Or

B) stop making impulsive and reckless decisions every day.

There really aren't many other options.

I don't know.

This is all very overwhelming.

Time for another drink.

I thought tomorrow was easy but now it's today.

With love, Samantha x.

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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hey thanks so much for sharing what you go through, reading your post made me realise im not the only one out there like this🥺

Thank you for your kind words. I sometimes struggle imagining other people can feel the way I feel, so it's comforting to know you do. I'm always a message away if you need someone to talk to.

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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Why do I self-harm?

I first used a knife to cut my hands when I was about ten years old. Since then, it developed into an addiction. I have had periods of time when I have resisted the urge, but I've always come back to it.

Some people self-harm for attention, and we need to stop criticising those people for attention seeking because it is still a symptom of an illness. I, however, do not self-harm for attention. I will try to explain.

I self-harm because it feels like, when I have this deep depression and anxiety inside me, I need to let it out somehow. I need evidence that I'm suffering, and when I see it heal, it makes me feel better about myself. It makes me feel like I'm human, and capable of healing. It makes me feel Real.

Sometimes I will choose to cut myself out of anger - I need a release. Sometimes I hate myself and feel like I need punishing for my past behaviour. I often self-harm even if I'm feeling relatively okay; it can feel like something productive to do with my day, and it cheers me up - similar to how a drug addict might take substances to feel purposeful and alive. Other times, I will be in a state of despair, and feel I have no other option than to hurt myself on the outside to damage the person on the inside. My mental health is a chronic battle with my own mind; it is relentless.

I hate going to the hospital. Sometimes I will cut too deep, and I will suddenly realise that something needs to change. I will watch the blood pour out and feel comforted, but as soon as the comfortable feeling ends, I'll feel guilty and ashamed. I will feel like I'm wasting nurses' time, and often, they will tell me off for injuring myself when there are other patients who need seeing who didn't choose to be there. I sit there quietly watching them stitch up my arms and hands, hoping they don't grimace at the numerous grotesque scars riddled over my skin. I will tell them I'm fine now, only to go home and do it all again.

Sometimes, if I am on a night out, I will be leaning against the bar and someone will see my arm and ask 'what happened to your arm?'. What do they expect me to say? I have an angry cat? I fell into a bush? I was attacked? I can hardly explain to the person that I'm completely out of my tree and cut myself every other day for a laugh. I can't tell them I'm suffering. I can't tell them how lonely my life is; even when surrounded by my family and friends.

It is a lonesome hobby. I have made promises to people before; saying, 'I'll never do it again'. But of course that's bullshit. Hurting myself repeatedly is one of my favourite pastimes. It's one of the only things I'm good at. Despite how horrible my arms look, I see them in the corner of my eye and I admire myself. I feel like a canvas. I feel like my scars make me beautiful, but then other times I feel this deep shame and embarrassment when I meet somebody new and they inevitably see my scars. Some people choose to not bring it up, but I can see them staring with this worried look on their face. Some people say 'you don't need to do that', as if they know all the intricacies of my mind and they somehow know that my life isn't THAT bad.

Cutting yourself feels like a sacred ritual. When I was younger, I would keep a multi-tool in a drawer with a small first aid kit, and when it came to the moment to get it all out, I would feel this rush. These days, I use a bread knife as it's more effective. I have rarely tried to kill myself by cutting my wrists - anyone who has tried this method will know how difficult and long winded it is. If I do want to attempt suicide, I'll stand for hours on a bridge; wishing I had the guts to jump. I'll take 100 tablets. I'll try to hang myself, only to change my mind at the last minute. It's pathetic. I yearn for the day when I will no longer be here...

But for the moment, I'm content with my self-harm addiction. It's a crippling but humbling habit. It reminds me that I'm not immortal; but will still heal given enough time. I sometimes think that maybe, once all my scars have faded, I will be reborn and suddenly be happy. I won't feel like an empty shell.

I will be Real.

I won't be alone much longer.

Much love, Samantha.

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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And I'll go to the service, and I'll go to pray, and sing the praises of my maker's name like I was as good as she made me. And I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me.

#mental disorder #mentalstrength #mental health #positive blog #elliottsmith #music #lyrics #suicide #mentalhealthawareness #bpd blog #bpd problems #bpd #actually bpd #bpd stuff #please help #selfharm #bipolar

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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Rape is still rape; even if both parties are intoxicated.

We need to learn to normalise talking about this. There have been several times when somebody has had sex with me or tried to have sex with me when I'm unconscious or too drunk. You blame yourself because you think you shouldn't have been so drunk in the first place. They say you were asking for it because you were wearing a short skirt, or too out of it to give consent. They say it was your fault. They say they were just drunk and didn't know what they were doing.

Consent is SO important though. I wish I was brave enough to go to the police, or even confront the individuals who have tried to do this. In the past I have just tried to shrug it off, then spent days - even months - feeling sick and ashamed of myself.

I've been thinking about this a lot recently and I feel afraid to get close to anybody. I am afraid to talk about it, and the thought of being intimate with another person frightens me. I swing from feeling hypersexual to being completely anti-sex within a matter of hours. The individuals that take advantage of women or men when they are intoxicated just see it as a little fun, but it's not fun. It needs to stop.

I was always afraid to go to the police about this sort of thing, adamant that the police would blame me and side with the other party. I was afraid that they would comment on my style, saying 'why are you complaining when you're wearing a sexy dress?'. 'Why were you so drunk?'. I feel guilty writing this because I'm afraid somebody will read it and think 'I am that person. And it wasn't my fault.'

I don't mean to come across as 'princess victim'. But this sort of drunken abuse needs to stop.

Much love to anyone who has suffered this, and I encourage you to seek help and support if this is something you have struggled with.

Rape is rape. And it's NEVER okay.

Samantha x.

#rape #abuse #mental health #mentally unstable #mental disorder #mentalstrength #positive blog #getting drunk #alcohol #alcoholism #drugs #relationships #bpd blog #actually bpd #bpd problems #bpd #borderlinepersonalitydisorder #bipolar #anxiety

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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Depression.

Depression is crippling. I have really been struggling today, as it is coming up to the date when a person close to me took his own life. It's not something you can just 'snap out' of, or something that can be alleviated by watching a nice film or thinking of positive vibes. It is Hell.

I can't cook food for myself because I see the kitchen drawer and yearn to grab a knife and stab myself to death. I take my tablets and wonder what will happen if I just take the whole packet with a bottle of vodka. Suicide is constantly on my mind; despite being aware of how it would make my family and friends feel. I think they would be better off without my violent mood swings. I think they would be relieved; that finally they don't have to deal with me anymore. I know I am hard work for those around me.

I yearn for intimacy and closeness with the people I know, but at the same time, I push people away and close myself off because I don't want to get hurt. I swing from being madly in love to feeling this deep hate and envy towards the people I care about. I envy that they don't feel these crippling feelings that I endure, despite knowing how selfish it is.

Today I have been too depressed to shower, brush my teeth, get dressed...all I want to do is disappear and never come back. People try to ask what's wrong -'what's up this time?' 'Why are you so down when you have so much to live for?' These comments make my blood boil. I am angry because they could never understand, but I don't let them get close enough to me to have chance to understand. When you suffer with deep-seeded trauma, you don't NEED a specific reason to feel depressed - you are just always aware of the guilt and shame and sadness you chronically experience, and it keeps running through your head, like a broken record.

I sometimes think, maybe I don't even want to help myself. After all; depressives like being depressed because if they were happy, they wouldn't be depressed anymore. Maybe I love the misery because it sets me apart from other people. I cut myself and hide the scars, and it's like my own little secret; my own little habit that makes me feel whole. But then, at the same time, I'm jealous of everyone else on social media who seem so happy and content. Perhaps they struggle too, but when you feel that low, you can only think in extremes, me=a mess, they=epitome of happiness. Maybe I wouldn't like to be like them with their banal lifestyles. Maybe I was born to be in the dark; clutching at my pain as if it were something beautiful.

I love the misery.

#depression #mental disorder #mentalstrength #mental health #positive blog #selfharm #suicide #scars #trauma #bpd blog #bpd stuff #bpd #borderlinepersonalitydisorder #bipolar

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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Eating disorder doesn't automatically equal skinny.

I have never been diagnosed with an eating disorder. But I have always had a strange love/hate relationship with food. With BPD, it's all or nothing. Love/hate. Fat/thin.

As I child, I was healthy. I was very athletic and had a six pack at the age of eight. As a teenager, I was average; around a UK size 10. Before I was diagnosed with BPD and Bipolar Disorder, I was a size 8.

Now I am thirty-one, and a UK size 14. I have been on medication for several years that can cause weight gain. Many people have made statements like 'you've let yourself go' or 'you looked better before'. People have been so offended by my weight, that they have told me to stop taking my medication (which basically keeps me sane) so that I can once again be a fit, skinny girl. I'd like to address this.

Why does weight have to be an issue? Yeah, fair enough, nobody wants to be the girl who needs a crane to get out of bed in the morning. Nobody wants to be called 'the fat girl'. But, since when did weight equal worth?

I always thought I was above the media's attempts to put my body to shame. I thought 'I really don't care if I weigh seven stone and do 1000 situps a day'. But in hindsight, I realised I was worrying about my weight and looks as far back as I can remember. My dad would often call my mother fat, and it was instilled into my mind that fat=lazy. Fat=unhealthy. Fat=monster. Fat=ugly.

A few years ago, I lost a lot of weight. I wasn't eating, and would feel sick at the thought of food. I would dread family meals, thinking that they would judge me if I ate too much. I would lie about eating. I would weigh myself every time I went to the bathroom, and would cry if I hadn't lost weight. When I looked in the mirror, I saw fat and ugliness. I saw disgust. I saw hate. I weighed just under eight stone and was passing out whenever I went anywhere, but everyone said I looked great. Skinny=attractive. Skinny=fit. Skinny=worthy. Everything I did or said revolved around being thin.

When I started a new medication and began to feel better, I gained weight. I started eating better and focussing on improving myself. I felt better, but other people around me would comment on the fact that I had gained weight. They would laugh and point at my stomach, saying 'someone's been eating more!'.

It turned into a vicious cycle. One month I would starve myself, then the following month I would eat crisps constantly and cry as I ate bread from the bag. And as my mental health got worse, the more my medication was increased, and the more my weight fluctuated. People would love to give their opinions on my body, whether I wanted them to or not. It's easy to assume that somebody is doing fine if they look thin and attractive as opposed to chubby and tired.

But skinny doesn't equal fine. Skinny doesn't equal positive. Skinny is an idea.

Last year, I was still struggling with my mental health but also battling my weight gain. I went up to twelve stone and would cry whenever I saw a picture of myself. People would say things like 'you look well', which obviously seemed to me a nice way of telling me I look like a massive, fat, monster. I would constantly search for images online of attractive, 'bigger' women; hoping that it would somehow encourage me to embrace my new curves. But I never felt like I could compare to them, because my curves weren't sexy or unique; I just looked fat and unhealthy.

Towards the end of last year, I went back down to ten stone by giving up eating. It was a form of self-harm, I suppose. I would go days without eating and felt sick anytime I did eat. I would look in the fridge, and feel ashamed for feeling hungry. I am still struggling...

Whenever I have spoken to a doctor about my problems with food and body-image, they have told me I'm not thin enough to worry about it. One doctor said to me, 'it's good for you to worry about food; you're not exactly skinny.' He was right, but it felt like a kick in the stomach. I desperately wished I had the drive to become a 'proper' anorexic. I envied those skeletal models in magazines and would fantasize about starving myself to death. I yearned for somebody to notice me and say 'you have a problem'. Because it was literally eating me up from the inside. All I thought about was food and weight and how everyone would perceive me if I lost or gained a few pounds. I would cancel plans because I felt like I was too unattractive to leave the house. It made me so upset that everyone seemingly thought I was eating a lot and pigging out, when I barely ate one meal a day.

I feel guilty for posting this. Maybe because I know that my weight isn't a serious problem, like the doctor said. Maybe because people have tried to help; saying 'if it makes you so unhappy, why don't you come off the medication and get thin again?'. 'Why don't you join the gym with me?!'.

But, no. I don't want to join the gym with you. My anxiety is bad enough as it is without feeling on parade in a big room full of thinner, fitter people than myself. I have been a gym-goer in the past and everyone thought I was SO attractive, but was I happy? No. I felt exactly the same at eight stone as I do at ten stone. I have ALWAYS felt overweight and unworthy. I have always felt unattractive.

My aim this year, I've decided, isn't to reach a goal weight. It isn't to get fit and healthy. It's to be kinder to myself. That doesn't mean 'eat all the fucking doughnuts and watch TV'. But it also doesn't mean 'starve yourself and run 10k every morning'. It's all about balance and moderation. Maybe in a couple of months, I will receive a giant serotonin boost and will gleefully skip to the gym and feel like a fucking princess. Maybe I won't. But the fact is; I can do whatever I want. It's nobody else's business if I'm a size 14 or a size 10. The medication I take does increase chances of weight gain; but I want to accept that instead of constantly blaming myself and feeling worthless every time I look in the mirror.

I guess the direction I'm trying to take with this post, is that low self-esteem and self-worth will affect many aspects of your life. And not everyone will approve. But you need to consider what is best for you, personally; not them. Who gives a fuck if you eat all the doughnuts? If you're struggling as much as I do with my mental health, a doughnut is the least of your worries. If you swing the other way and would rather go to the gym and get fit; them that's also fine. But please, be kind to yourself, in whatever you do. I think we all need a reminder sometimes that our short lives on this earth are a somewhat gift, and that, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter how other people perceive you.

Weight doesn't equal worth. Looks don't equal worth. Worth comes from self-respect, and respect for others around you. Worth comes from eating the fucking doughnuts if you're hungry. Worth is gained by not going round killing kittens and stealing babies from their cribs; not by fitting into that size 6 Topshop playsuit that you saw in last week's Cosmo. You are not a dress-up Barbie doll; you are a human being. And you are beautiful. And even if you are overweight, or slightly fat or generally unattractive physically, at least you don't kill kittens; you're better than that. And there's worth there.

I'm drunk and it's 3:30am. I'm going to go and eat a doughnut and not worry about how I look for the next few hours. I suggest you do the same.

Much love, Samantha.

#mentalstrength #mental disorder #mental health #positive blog #anorexia #bulimic #bpd stuff #actually bpd #bpd #bpd problems #bpd blog #living with bpd #bipolar #im drunk #thoughts #healthy eating #food #eatingdisorder

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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Abuse is never right; even if the abuser is suffering from mental health problems.

Anyone who knows me will know I've had a variety of odd relationships in my past. Some I would rather forget, some I treasure, and some have shaped who I am today. However, one consistent factor I have learned throughout the years about relationships is the balance required to not let your mental health problems manipulate you to the point where you are essentially abusing the other party.

I suffer from mental health problems. And I am diagnosed with a condition which aggressively affects the way I perceive relationships and connections with other people. I have read that people suffering from BPD are often very jealous people; controlling and paranoid. I'd like to give my opinion on this notion.

Now, a certain amount of jealousy is perfectly natural and human; nobody likes the idea of getting cheated on or lied to. However, particularly when I was in my early-twenties and adolescence, I would get jealous to the point of insanity. I would read my partner at the time's messages. If I found anything remotely strange, I would quiz him about it. If he spoke to other women, I would be angry. If I couldn't find anything incriminating, I would assume he had deleted the evidence and I would make myself sick worrying about the what-ifs. What makes me most ashamed, though, is that I myself would openly flirt with other people in an attempt to feel more in control. It was a total hypocrisy, but it somehow made me feel better; like, if I was able to focus on other people and my relations with them, I felt I would be less likely to act like a raving psychopath every time my boyfriend noticed another woman in the street. I liked having my own secrets and felt more content in the thought that, if my boyfriend were to be unfaithful, I would be okay and that there would be plenty more people available in the future. What's worse, is it felt like the more I liked a boyfriend, the more I would lie and go behind his back. I feel sick writing this but it is the truth.

I am not trying to justify my actions in my youth, and I am certainly not about to write a big diatribe about how it wasn't my fault because 'I'm ill'. What I'm trying to do is provide an example of what some people (not just those with BPD) will do in an attempt to figure out their raging emotions during a time period where they may be suffering inside and not being open enough about it. I treated many people badly, and I was abusive. And just because I didn't physically hurt anyone, it was STILL abuse. I was controlling, manipulative and sly, and I would constantly justify it by blaming love and empathy. I felt like I only acted like that because I felt more than 'normal people'. I was more invested emotionally in my relationships. My love was my curse.

As it turns out, after years of reflection, I can say that those times when I felt 'love'; it wasn't love - it was infatuation. It bordered on obsession. I needed somebody in my life to fill a void, and that was it. I wanted so badly to have a normal, happy relationship, but my behaviour was far from normal.

It goes the other way too. I may have mentioned before that I have a habit of picking people who are mentally unstable in some way to be with because I find I can relate to them more. However, even though people with mental health problems are perfectly capable of having healthy relationships, I would often stay with people in an attempt to 'fix' them, even if their own behaviour had become abusive. It was circular - I would break down and lash out at them, they would respond with physical or emotional abuse, then I would manipulate them even more to get back at them. It was unhealthy on both sides of the relationship, and it was exhausting. If they had any form of break down or concerns, I would blame myself and try harder to make them open up to me. And then, if they didn't, it would affect my own mental health and I would ultimately make it worse. I have been beaten, shamed publically, raped, cheated on and manipulated - but I would justify their actions by thinking 'it's okay; they're ill'. I thought to myself 'I'm just as bad, so it's okay.' These experiences weren't relationships; they were reliances. And they always ended badly; with dyer consequences. I can shamefully admit that I have developed a bit of a reputation locally that I am some sort of scary witch girlfriend who drives people to insanity.

My aim of this post is to highlight some of the issues people suffering from mental health can experience when trying to have 'normal' relationships. None of us is perfect, yet all of us are whole. We all need work; I still find myself feeling jealous over certain things and I sometimes slip back into my old mindset. You might find yourself doing the same. But it doesn't make you unworthy of love or affection. You just need to be aware of how your actions are affecting other people.

You are worthy. Keep going.

Much love, Samantha x.

#relationships #mental disorder #mentalstrength #mental health #positive blog #abuse #disorder #bpd #borderline personality traits #borderlinepersonalitydisorder #bipolar #anxiety #couple

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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Medication.

I currently take Prozac (an anti-depressant), Buspirone (to help with my anxiety), Flupanthixol (an anti-psychotic) and Kemadrin (which stops me shaking physically).

If you have ever taken medication for mental health problems, you will probably be able to relate when I say that everybody suddenly becomes a doctor regarding your mental state once you mention you take them. You will hear people make statements like 'medication removes your ability to feel emotion'. They will say 'they don't even help you.' 'You were so much better before.' 'You will get addicted to them.'

I am personally sick of these statements, and feel that I need to say a few things about it.

Before I was on medication, it took me years to get any sort of help or diagnosis. Doctors would say my mental health problems were just a 'teenage phase' and that I had nothing to worry about. Despite this, I would cut myself every day. I would fantasise about suicide, violence, even murder. I had so much anger and this deep, deep sadness that I prayed would never develop into a physical manifestation. I would throw myself down the stairs. I would bash my head against a wall until I blacked out; just to feel something. I may have seemed fine to my family and friends, but my madness was slowly creeping into my every day life and I could feel my sanity slipping away. I would manipulate people and attempt to use others for my own gain. When I was seventeen, I left the country without saying a word to anyone. It crippled my family and friends, yet they didn't realise how sick I was. I thought I needed to escape the banality of my life in the UK, but it didn't work; I needed to escape myself.

Now, I have tried dozens of different medications over the years. I have been on Quetiapine, Sertraline, Citalopram, Escitalopram...and others I can't remember. And they often didn't help, or they had terrible side effects. Before taking medication, I weighed eight stone. I have put a lot of weight on since then. The tablets make me tired, sluggish and worn out. They make me feel sick. But, they do help. I'm not bashing my head against walls anymore.

Don't get me wrong, my tablets aren't wonder-drugs. Despite being on medication, I still self-harm. I take overdoses. I feel low most of the time. But, I am significantly better than I was before. I despise people assuming that taking medication should suddenly fix all your problems, because it doesn't. It has taken me years to get to this point where I am able to actually address my problems and form stable relationships with the people around me. I am starting to feel like I could actually be a good person one day; with aspirations and goals in my life, as opposed to this constant obsession with suicide and death. It's easy for people to say I was 'better' before taking my medication. But they don't know me. And I do feel better. I honestly feel like I'm getting through this, slowly but surely.

My point is, don't let anyone other than yourself dictate what is best for you. I like to think I'll come off the meds one day, but for now, they are keeping me alive. Some people would rather not take medication; and that's absolutely fine. But don't try to lecture me about what I need. I am my own person. You are your own person, and do whatever the fuck it takes to keep yourself alive.

Much love, Samantha x.

#mentalhealthawareness #mental breakdown #mentalhealth #mentalstrength #medication #borderline personality traits #bipolar #anxiety #depression #selfharm #self care #selfworth #self love #tablets

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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BPD, Bipolar Disorder and Anxiety; A Summary.

I love you. I hate you. I want you to hold me, but please don't touch me. I just want to be loved but please don't fall in love with me because I'll only hurt you.

I want attention from everyone. I don't want to exist. I want to be invisible but I want to make my mark. I am a romantic person; I want to make you smile, but I find happiness banal.

I'm only happy when it rains. I feel broken unless I'm helping somebody else who feels broken. I will raise you up then ignore you. I will sleep with you but I won't let you in.

I don't like intimacy but I will kiss you forever. I talk about sex but it disgusts me. I disgust myself. You disgust me, but I find you fascinating. I study you. I want to know everything about you so I know what brings you down, just in case you hurt me first. You'll never hurt me. Not like this. Not when I crave your love but always want what I don't have.

I want to be human. I want to have skin and hair and nails and emotion. I have too much emotion but I feel like a concrete slab. I am disassociated. I am nothing but I am the only one that exists. I lie and steal and manipulate (but I'm really so sorry about it).

I am a child because I was always an adult. My dreams are set in another dimension in a place where I am safe. But I am hollow.

Will I ever find some peace? Some answers to my questions?

I want to be perfect. I want to please everyone. I want to be yours but please don't possess me. I don't want to belong to you. I don't want to be taken. I don't want to be a half of a whole. But please don't leave me.

Please don't leave me.

I don't want to be alone.

With love, Samantha x.

#borderline personality traits #actually bpd #bipolor #mental health #mental breakdown #poem #poetry #childhood fears #layers of fear #afraid #anxiety #anxious #i am alone

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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Sexuality.

I don't often tell people that I'm bisexual. It just feels simpler; as I've always had relationships with men, and my promiscuity when I was younger centred around being with men. Very rarely I have joked about being gay to friends, and more often than not, not been taken seriously because of my track record.

I have been thinking about why this is recently, and have come to the conclusion that I always perhaps felt more comfortable around men; when my parents separated at age 14, I chose to live with my father. When I was assaulted when I was a teenager, it was by a male. When I was abused as a child, it was by a man. My first love was a man, my first crush was a boy, and currently, my best friends are predominantly male. I always attributed these things to me having a somewhat 'male-mind'; growing up, I would often talk openly (and inappropriately at times) about sex, and often saw the generic femininity of women dull and trivial. I would strive to find films and music that stirred my imagination and intellect; an activity I foolishly thought women were typically less likely to engage in. Society always taught me, through the media, that women were fragile creatures. Women were weak and delicate and were only interested in shoes and clothes and watching Bridget Jones' Diary. I felt uncomfortable around my female friends at school and yearned to have male company for as long as I remember; both socially and sexually.

However, as I grew older, I realised very gradually that there ARE wonderful, intellectual, interesting women in the world. And looking back; I should have known. I always had a plethora of female icons to look up to and admire whilst growing up, including my own mother and sister. I think I just chose to not acknowledge it, perhaps because without realising it, my father and other male figures in my life often disregarded women as being inferior or not as strong or brave or capable as men. But also, which I did not want to admit, I had been intrigued and attracted by the female gender for as long as I could remember. I often ascertained that women were the more beautiful gender physically; men being a lot more grotesque and odd to look at naked. I would often watch films as a child, and yearn to be the man saving the woman in distress - not the other way round.

At college, I befriended a girl in my English class whom completely turned my life around. Although we never dated - we each had male partners at the time - and although I hadn't admitted my bisexuality to myself, I was fascinated by this intelligent, strong and opinionated woman, who broke down social barriers and confirmed that there ARE women in the world who don't just paint each other's nails and braid each other's hair. It was a sigh of relief for me. I have never felt that feeling about anyone since.

It is 2021 and I am not in a relationship with a woman; nor do I feel like I ever have to be. But it is important to recognise that it's okay to have these feelings and analyse the ways in which we perceive gender throughout the ages. I am proud to call myself bisexual, and although not many of my friends or family will read this, I am proud that I can say, with sincerity, that I am capable of loving an individual rather than a gender. I no longer feel that there needs to be a large characteristic difference between what defines a man and a woman - people are people, and some people are worth it.

With love, Samantha x.

#sexuality #gender #bisexual #gay #lbgt representation #women #men #gender roles

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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My beautiful family.

I don't intend on sharing too much personal information about my surviving relatives in this post as they probably don't want their business shared all over social media, but I do want to say a few words about my late father Peter, my sister Sarah and my mother, Wendy.

Wendy was an amazing, beautiful, strong and compassionate woman. She was my absolute hero and she taught me everything I know about inclusion, accepting yourself and others around you as you/they are, pouring love into everything you do, and seeing empathy and compassion as positive traits that nobody should feel ashamed of. She never agreed with uniforms or competition; she believed we are all equal, rather than having to compete to be the best (or at least, society's idea of what was the best). She was a firm supporter of animal rights and dedicated her life to caring for and supporting individuals in need. She had a smile and laugh that lit up the room, and I will always miss her amazing sensitivity and heart. She was my mum.

My father, Peter, was strong-willed, opinionated, outspoken, stubborn and extremely passionate. He was an artist, and like most creatives, had a number of problems that we rarely discussed. But he loved me with his heart and soul. He taught me to push myself and be open minded. He taught me to never give up. He taught me to respect all living beings. And although I often worry that I wouldn't have made him proud, I feel he would be proud that I've made it - I didn't kill myself - after what's been a personal Hell over the past few years. He would still love me because he was my father.

My sister, Sarah, was in her twenties when she passed away after a lifelong struggle with depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. She was a beautiful person, inside and out, despite never really believing in herself or considering herself to be remarkable. She was remarkable, though. She was sensitive, kind, unique, fragile but strong, and filled with empathy. She once told me she had been envious of my achievements; academically, musically and athletically. But I never got the chance to tell her that I was always envious of her as a child; I yearned to be like her and be a good person - something that I felt I could never be. She was my absolute hero and we would always look out for each other when we were growing up. I remember we would sneak out and she would buy me cigarettes as a teenager. When I first began to self-harm, she would take me to the hospital and try her best to get me to open up about it, despite my stubborn nature. She was my beautiful, big sister and I miss her so much. I miss you, Sarah.

I hope writing this will somehow act as a reminder to those who were lucky enough to know these wonderful people; a reminder that, even if you weren't famous, or rich, or exceptional at something, everybody is amazing in their own way and the smallest things can inspire the people who surround you in life. You can live forever.

Much love, Samantha x.

#family #sister #death #love #self love #mental health #mentalstrength #mother #father #artist #creative

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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I feel like I need to address something about child abuse.

It doesn't make you this part of a glamorous club where you are super strong and brave. It doesn't make you feel liberated, knowing that you survived something so awful. It makes you feel disgusting.

Since finding out about the abuse that happened as a child, I have felt dirty and unclean. I feel like I can't talk about it with anyone because I feel like it's too taboo or inappropriate. I feel like my childhood was robbed from me, and all these years of depression and anger suddenly make sense.

The thought of being intimate with another person makes me feel sick. Even the thought of hugging a close friend makes me nervous, because I know what this body has been through. I feel used and taken advantage of, by somebody I can't even picture because my mind is so broken. I feel this extraordinary rage inside me, but all I can do is sit there calmly and pretend I'm fine and not burden people with my self-obsessed thoughts and concerns. I see a knife and I just want to stab myself because I feel so ashamed.

Child abuse isn't a quirk or something that makes me 'me'. I am glass, and I can feel myself shattering.

Much love, Samantha x.

#childabuse #survival #survivor #bpd #bipolar #mental health #mentalstrength #pain

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smittenswithmittens · 3 years

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#inspriation #life quote #quotes #mentalstrength #mental disorder #mental health #positive blog

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