London Calling...
So living without the crack(!) is easier than i thought... not greatly helpful however is when you have a close friend flaunting her own ED'd behaviour in response to your confession of trying to give it up.
Lets chalk that up to insensitivity and not read into it any further. I am acutely aware of the potential risks of this relationship, but kind of enjoying skirting the boundaries of a healthy friendship. Okay maybe that's not completely honest. Whatever.
I am completely torn RE: Easter plans. This is so painful.
I want to see my family, I want us to BE a family. But the whole damn thing is so horribly dysfunctional. I know it seems like such an easy decision. But I feel so vulnerable at the moment... I'm doing Okay ? maybe ? I don't know... I want to see Lucy and Charlie, I feel bad for not being there for Lucy.
But damnit being in that house is beyond hard. And my mother.
Why are we not discussing the fact that she is obviously mentally unstable ? Why the hell is it ok to just sweep it under the carpet and laugh it off ?
I am terrified of turning into her. And at the moment I don't see myself as much better.
I know she must be hurting, I think that is why I find her so difficult to deal with. Its so obvious. That need for attention, skewed mindset, an inability to prioritise the very things you need to do to get through life. It is no wonder I was brought up in the environment I was.
So why don't we talk about that ?
She knows what I saw, what I witnessed, what I hid Lucy from in the bathroom under the stairs because she was thinking of herself and not her five year old daughter who was quietly crying. Why is it ok that children are not picked up from school and wait in the cold until 10pm ? Why are all these things just... left.
I remember going home this time last year. I'd had a hell of a term, to put it lightly (you know, tried to kill myself, ended a long term relationship...). I was just finding my feet, trying to focus on finals and finishing a degree.
I left the hospital laboratory in Bangor having essentially abandoned the practical side of my dissertation due to anxiety... and driven 450 miles to try and be somewhere comfortable and secure to write it up.
It is so vivid.
I drove for 9 hours with one break, excited to see my family, looking forward to an evenings reunion with them all and catching up. Preparing myself to write my dissertation over the easter break whilst working full time at the kayaking shop.
I drove into the estate to find my Dad at the door and no car on the drive. Having not seen him for three months, Dad greets me with "Have you seen Mum?" Well actually, no, I hadn't, funnily enough.
I walk into the house to find Lucy in tears, smashed bottles and crockery, dog barking and Dad frantically ringing my mother. Who, incidentally, from what I can gather, had yelled the hell out of my poor little sister, had a raging drunken blow out with my Dad about whatever was annoying her that day, and then driven (post 3 bottles of wine) to another town to see the man she was having an affair with.
And this is supposedly after everything is all OK and we are playing happy families. This counts as passable now, apparently.
I can't do it. I really can't. But I feel so selfish for not braving it for Lucy. I know she goes out and gets drunk, has sex... she's only 16. At her age I wasn't dealing with it any better.
After a year in hospital for infections caused by stress, or as a direct result of domestic violence I was being slightly more introverted in my coping mechanisms, but I still worry, I know how well it can be hidden.
I have vague recollections of time spent in hospital. There was a drug I was prescribed that I now know is a commonly used anti-depressant - which makes me wonder what the doctor prescribing it thought, or who or why it was agreed because it was never discussed with me.
My mother stopped me taking it as soon as she found out (I didn't even know what it was), and shunned the offers of counselling before it was offered to me. I wish they'd tried harder.
Lets chalk that up to insensitivity and not read into it any further. I am acutely aware of the potential risks of this relationship, but kind of enjoying skirting the boundaries of a healthy friendship. Okay maybe that's not completely honest. Whatever.
I am completely torn RE: Easter plans. This is so painful.
I want to see my family, I want us to BE a family. But the whole damn thing is so horribly dysfunctional. I know it seems like such an easy decision. But I feel so vulnerable at the moment... I'm doing Okay ? maybe ? I don't know... I want to see Lucy and Charlie, I feel bad for not being there for Lucy.
But damnit being in that house is beyond hard. And my mother.
Why are we not discussing the fact that she is obviously mentally unstable ? Why the hell is it ok to just sweep it under the carpet and laugh it off ?
I am terrified of turning into her. And at the moment I don't see myself as much better.
I know she must be hurting, I think that is why I find her so difficult to deal with. Its so obvious. That need for attention, skewed mindset, an inability to prioritise the very things you need to do to get through life. It is no wonder I was brought up in the environment I was.
So why don't we talk about that ?
She knows what I saw, what I witnessed, what I hid Lucy from in the bathroom under the stairs because she was thinking of herself and not her five year old daughter who was quietly crying. Why is it ok that children are not picked up from school and wait in the cold until 10pm ? Why are all these things just... left.
I remember going home this time last year. I'd had a hell of a term, to put it lightly (you know, tried to kill myself, ended a long term relationship...). I was just finding my feet, trying to focus on finals and finishing a degree.
I left the hospital laboratory in Bangor having essentially abandoned the practical side of my dissertation due to anxiety... and driven 450 miles to try and be somewhere comfortable and secure to write it up.
It is so vivid.
I drove for 9 hours with one break, excited to see my family, looking forward to an evenings reunion with them all and catching up. Preparing myself to write my dissertation over the easter break whilst working full time at the kayaking shop.
I drove into the estate to find my Dad at the door and no car on the drive. Having not seen him for three months, Dad greets me with "Have you seen Mum?" Well actually, no, I hadn't, funnily enough.
I walk into the house to find Lucy in tears, smashed bottles and crockery, dog barking and Dad frantically ringing my mother. Who, incidentally, from what I can gather, had yelled the hell out of my poor little sister, had a raging drunken blow out with my Dad about whatever was annoying her that day, and then driven (post 3 bottles of wine) to another town to see the man she was having an affair with.
And this is supposedly after everything is all OK and we are playing happy families. This counts as passable now, apparently.
I can't do it. I really can't. But I feel so selfish for not braving it for Lucy. I know she goes out and gets drunk, has sex... she's only 16. At her age I wasn't dealing with it any better.
After a year in hospital for infections caused by stress, or as a direct result of domestic violence I was being slightly more introverted in my coping mechanisms, but I still worry, I know how well it can be hidden.
I have vague recollections of time spent in hospital. There was a drug I was prescribed that I now know is a commonly used anti-depressant - which makes me wonder what the doctor prescribing it thought, or who or why it was agreed because it was never discussed with me.
My mother stopped me taking it as soon as she found out (I didn't even know what it was), and shunned the offers of counselling before it was offered to me. I wish they'd tried harder.