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One year on: What’s Changed?

September 21, 2008

I think this is fairly appropriate giving that this weekend I’m moving cities and I feel I need to tie up some loose ends.

A year ago, I had a really strange phobia that’d got worse from it’s normally dormant levels which was of cassette tape. I think I wrote about this already, about how it stopped me from going out, and doing anything that wasn’t compulsory (basically work or college). Looking back, it’s odd to say that, and how it affected me; a year ago it was so major, now it’s only a tiny part of my life! A year ago, I was a month into the waiting list for CBT, now I’m “cured” providing I keep up exposures… crazy, huh?!

I think I can say really that’s the only improved thing. Eating issues, depression and self harm have all appeared…

Throughout my teens, I’d promised myself no matter how bad things got, I’d never self harm, commit suicide, maybe, but no self harming. Within a month of being back at college I turned into a burning obsessive: gas jets, irons, lighters, anything hot was my new best friend. Then it turned into compasses, razor blades and scissors. Anything I could lay my hands on, the security tags at work, anything. I hate thinking back to those days, wanting to say I’m no longer like that, and although I haven’t self harmed in about 3 months, the urges are still there and are still a real problem. They always say never start, you won’t stop and only now I know how true that is. How hard I’ve tried, how many elastic bands I’ve twanged and how much hair I’ve pulled out trying to stop. (Or is that a form of self harm, too? Maybe I’m buggered…) I feel so angry at myself for starting, for believing how I felt: “alive”, “legitimate” when I was assessed, that they’d HAVE to help me. Then the voices came, and they did, but that’s a different story. So young, naive and thinking it’d help me: it helped in the short term, but still now I have scars that won’t bust, and with a sun tan they’re worse: every little scar is there. I hate the dodgy stares. Luckily they’re on the inside of my arm, but customers still stare. I convinced myself I’d get better if I cut, if I never slept or ate, that was the way to happiness. I don’t think it is!

Then there was the eating problem that got blown out of control: I believe(d) I am(was) a size 16, everyone was smaller than me, I am(was) an elephant and that I am(was) so fat. This is partly thanks to my parents telling me since I was little “I have more covering on my bones”, “that I ate too much” and that “if you weigh over 8 stone you’re fat”. Lies, dammit but it’s drummed into me. I’m in no way happy to be in this situation: regulating my food intake, purging and beating myself up over my eating. I don’t want to be like this, I thought I was recovering, I thought that this was over, but it really isn’t: and I don’t know what’ll happen when I get to university. I’ve not bought any scales yet, I don’t want to but part of me tells me I need to, or I’ll never eat.

At the moment I’m having a debate, internally. The end of the tunnel may be coming depression-wise, but do I go ahead with my referrals in Birmingham or not? Do I wait and see, then if things go wrong I’m buggered, and I can always say I don’t need it if I do.

I’ve had a nice escapist weekend, and I’m feeling a lot better, but I think I know what I need to do, and that’s why as soon as I got inside the M60 everything came tumbling back in. I don’t think it’ll go away, but I can try, and try real hard.

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