Recovery

I travelled 18 hours back and forth. With holdall bags larger than me on overflowing trains, sleeping and awaking from startling nightmares whilst aboard. I travelled a lot whilst in Wales. Yet none of it was beneficial.

Picture it. I was 18, confused, trying my best, doing what I was supposed to do.

This was the second coming of my internal struggles.

I have a vivid memory of when I was 11 years old, making myself sick after eating. Staying up after midnight and watching shows like The Villa?! I watched these young, clueless attractive people live out misogynistic nonsense and instead of questioning it I did 200 sit ups wishing I was attractive.

I remember my neighbour who was a few years younger commenting that my body looked weird because I had lumps on my nipples as my breasts were forming and that I stood oddly like my hips were too far forward.

I can remember a family friend making a comment along the lines of, ‘she’s grown into her looks’ when I was 15 years old. I have always had an intrinsic need to be liked and desired as I was under the impression that was my worth.

It wasn’t until I was almost 19 when I had my first near death crisis.

I can vaguely remember friends in my student halls of residence, using pint glasses to put my black vomit from the tiny sink in my room to the shared toilet. There were also a lot of things and actions I don't remember but my flatmates thought it was funny to spell out something along the lines of “Linny and x are lesbains, humping on the kitchen floor.”

I remember being told no one wanted to socialise with me and x cause we always fought (like a married couple).

It could be argued I wasn’t ready to be away from home but it could also be argued that it is what started the slow and painful process to where I am now.

I know what you’re thinking. Where were your parents? They were being spectacular. Working for the then semi functional NHS, saving lives, making a difference whilst also raising three girls. I could make assumptions about them, I could chastise them for decisions but I won’t because I know in my soul they did their best and luckily they’re still around and continue to support me albeit at an arm's length.

I would talk about my sisters more but I feel I have already burdened them with so much. They didn't’ ask to have a Bi-Polar, Borderline Personality Disorder, queer mess as a sister. What I will say however, is I truly regret the trauma I have probably caused them.

I did therapy. I continue to take medication. I am what is considered “stable”.

The fear though.

It never leaves. It is always there. The only time I’m not aware of it is when I am manic and being vivacious and what some consider ‘silly’.

#Bipolar #BPD #Depression #Anxiety #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #Old #help #Broken #Recovery #Masking #Relateable

I’m in the process of trying to find a seasonal camping spot for my camper trailer. This will be a refuge, my home, and where I can continue the next chapters of my healing. I live in an area that has very few winter camping options, and have just secured a job with one of the best employers in the region. I’m usually pretty good about encouraging others, but today I just need a little of that boost in return.

I just want to settle into my home. #imtired #housinginsecurity #realworldproblems #houselessnothomeless

Hi all, I’m writing tonight on my 31st birthday and I’m sick as a dog with covid. It’s been a very strange day…honestly I didn’t do much besides try and manage my symptoms to stay relatively comfortable. I was delighted by happy birthday texts throughout the day. Honestly wasn’t expecting much more since I went no contact with toxic family in 2020.

This year I somehow ended up lashing out at the only people who bothered to buy me a cake, sing, and actually buy me gifts. My two roommates.

I’m not sure if my gut/intuition is sincerely telling me that something is off here… or if it’s cptsd that sabotages anything that resembles joy/happiness in my life. I’m writing now before going to bed and I told my roommates they can have the gifts back I don’t want them. I feel insane, convinced I’m going to die alone with my cats. Am I paranoid? Triggered? Trust issues? I feel bad for how I acted but also sincerely doubt I can trust these people and convinced they are going to (or already did) betray me.

Can anyone relate to this or know what could be going on? Am I going crazy?

#CPTSD #narcabuse #Recovery