Tag Archives: mental health


I had a meltdown the other day, and I haven’t been able to pick myself up from it.  It all started because I’m on a diet and lost weight.  Which should be a good thing right, but when I saw that the numbers on the scale, I immediately thought ‘but imagine what it would read if you had worked harder at the gym’ and ‘you had a wine on Wednesday, that was cheating’.  It quickly descending into chasm of self hatred littered with ‘you Don’t deserve this’.  

I told a friend about it who didn’t get why I wouldn’t be happy.  That just made me feel worse.  Does thwt mean I’m incapable of happiness?  Should I just give up on life now if I’m never going to be happy?  I managed to function enough to get to the gym, where I promptly launched into a full scale sobbing mess in the car park.

How broken must I be, if I don’t know how to be happy?  If I don’t know what success or pride feels like?   I attempted to try and find a memory of success, something I could try and replicate, which was terrible, because I couldn’t find one, so I just confirmed that I’m failing at life.  

Since then, I’ve basically been a miserable mess.  I’m grumpy and angry at work.  I spend my commute crying in the car.  I go to the gym and feel like a failure because I’m not working hard enough, I come home and eat, and feel like a failure at that because all I want is chocolate, and I don’t want to eat any more vegetables.  Then there is the weighing.

I weigh myself approximately every half an hour.   Today the scales have been rising, but I’ve stuck to my plan.  Does that mean I’m failing?  It thwt wine from a week ago catching up with me?  I definitely need to work harder at the gym.  And eat more vegetables.  What happens if it continues to rise?  I may as well just eat chocolate and then at least I’ll die of a satisfied heart attack.

So here I am.  Broken.  Failing.  Despairing.  And the worst bit of that….? I’m telling the internet because there’s no one else who cares.  


Dear J,

We are now six years on from a night which changed my world for forever, and you probably barely remember. Six years and I am still taking the responsibility for your actions. Infact, it’s taken six years for me to even realise that it wasn’t okay for you to do what you did.

I admit, I didn’t make it clear I didn’t want to sleep with you. I don’t know if I said no, because I was too drunk from the drinks you were buying me. I didn’t try to run away because I couldn’t comprehend what was happening at the time. Presumably, I got into the car, then walked upstairs to the bathroom with you, but it can’t be sure, because I don’t remember. But I will give you the benefit of the doubt that you didn’t force me to to those things.

I must have made some sort of noise though, because you put your hand over my mouth. And you locked the door and stood in front of it.

After that night, you didn’t laugh and joke with me anymore. You left the room when I was there, and you made me feel like I’d done something wrong. I moved away from my little family of friends we had created and never went back.

Did you know, that when you were buying me those drinks, that’s what you were going to do? Did you care? Was it a drunk mistake that got out of hand?

I can’t blame you for what happened. I was an adult, I didn’t do all the things you’re supposed to do if you don’t want something to happen to you, and I allowed you to buy me drinks. I flirted with you. I knew what accepting drinks and flirting would lead to, and I let it happen anyway.

I’ve been told that you raped me. I’m not sure. I think that I allowed myself to get into a vulnerable situation and then didn’t handle it well. But I’m told that’s what I’m lead to believe. I’m told that it wasn’t my fault. I’m not sure about that either.

Whether you did, or whether you didn’t, that night has impacted my ability to function in an adult relationship now. Six years later, and I’m still scared that if I flirt, accept drinks, look for someone, i’ll feel like how I felt in that bathroom that night. I’m scared that I’m not strong enough to feel like that again.

I’m scared all the time, and I wonder whether you even remember that night? If it ever keeps you awake? If you regret the way it all panned out? Or am I over reacting, as I’m often told? Paranoid about an event which is, in hindsight, a non-event.

One day,I might write you a letter that relinquishes my responsibility in that night, accepting the views of hone internet strangers, that what you did is wrong. But write now, I just need you to know that I’m broken. Very very broken.


Tonight I went for dinner with a friend who has some similar issues to me, mainly around historical issues with her parent. She accessed therapy a few years ago and raved about so I talked about how I’d made an appointment to go, again, and updated her on the friend/boy/his girlfriend drama. And she had some very interesting ideas on it.

So, why did I get with the boy knowing he had a gf and wouldn’t leave me? Because I knew I wouldn’t want to be with him long term.

Why do I continue to go back to him, despite not actually liking him very much and knowing we’re not really compatible? Because I know I won’t really fall for him.

Why don’t I want to be with him long term and allow myself to hall for him? Because then I might have to open up my real self, and allow myself to be vulnerable, and see what happens.

Same goes for why I won’t go on a dates. Not because I’m scared of meeting them, but because I’m scared of allowing them in, to get close, and exposing the ‘real me’.

So the question isn’t why am a I scared of meeting someone, it’s what am I scared of showing them?

Interesting, very very interesting…

Slap in the face

I’ve written nearly nonstop for all my waking hours for a week. I sit at work pretending to work, writing things that I’m thinking. I cancelled plans to sit and write. It’s like the flood gates opened and now I can’t stop.

Not all of the posts are published. Largely because they’re all the garbled rumblings of a loon and make little sense. Infact I don’t think I’ve posted hardly any. I write much more than I publish. I wonder if others do that? Not even the anonymity of the internet allows me to be honest….another thing for the therapist.

But as a result of the writing I’ve started to look at what other people are writing, and mk gat finding out I am one of many, I’ve come to bleak conclusion.

I am broken.


Dating for beginners

I’m back to writing. Because it is 7pm on a Friday, and I have no plans. But this isn’t a wallowy post about lacking a social life. It’s Friday night, I’ve just worked a 50 hour week and I have to get up early, a night in sounds magical.

Instead, this is a wallowy post about dating.

So here the thing, I haven’t really dated in about 4 years. It terrifies me. Like the thought of going out and spending one on one time with a boy makes me want to cry. Why? I’m perfectly competent at conversing. I could go out to dinner with my male friends, chat, laugh, share a wine and have a lovely evening. But put any sort of romantic slant on it, and suddenly it’s becomes an insurmountable mountain.

I’ve established, I think, that it’s the intimacy bit that scares me. I’m so busy thinking about all the reasons they wouldn’t want to be with me, and I’m pretty practiced at appearing socially competent that I can talk my way out of most things. But when it comes to anything else, I can’t talk my way out of, and in an event to avoid history repeating itself, I just avoid it all together.

But, I don’t want to. I just don’t know what to do about it.

Recently, I attempted to meet a boy. I found a couple online. It was all fun and entertaining chatting through the interweb. But then, they wanted to meet. In person. With me. Uh oh.

Most normal people might have butterfly excitement and justify it with rational thoughts. He talked to me, and continued to talk to me. He’s seen pictures of me, and continued to talk to me. He likes talking to me, and the look of me enough, he wants to meet.

I however, am not normal. My irrational thoughts go something like this. Why is he talking to me? He must have no one else to talk to, he’ll stop when there’s someone else. And I’m more entertaining online, more opportunities to press the delete button and time to think of something witty. And My pictures of me don’t look like me in person. He’ll be disappointed and it will show on his face, and he’ll be uncomfortable, and I’ll feel bad that he doesn’t want to be there, and then he’ll make up an excuse to leave, so I may as well not go.

So within about four seconds of finding out they want to me, I’ve decided that I should probably never leave the house again, just in case someone is uncomfortable about having to talk or look at me.

But, I attempted to follow this through. I actually arranged the date. Time, date, location. For one week and two weeks away respectively.

T-7 days. I pretty much decide I can’t do this. I’ve spent 12 hours considering all the possible reasons they won’t like me, which lead me to all the reasons I don’t like me, and no one in the world should like me.
T-6 days. Why dd they invite me out? Maybe it’s a joke and it’s just for shits and giggles. I definitely shouldn’t go tips they’re going to make fun of me.
T-5-2 days. I’m a wreck. Can’t talk to people. Flash backs to all the horrible moments in my life. Memories of all the times people have affirmed my failings at life. Log off dating site in panic.

Date the following week follows the same pattern, just slightly sped up.

So I’ve spent the last two weeks in turmoil because I attempted to date. So what have I learnt from this? Don’t try to date, it’s bad for my mental health.

Is somebody better than nobody?

A complicating factor in my life is that I’ve fallen head over heals for a boy that is not probably as helpful to my life as he could be. I’ve known him for fifteen years, as good friends, and he is, in general very lovely. And then one night we slept together.

Which for him wasn’t really anything important, but for me it was big. I rarely get over feeling of fear enough to get in that position, and even rarer is getting in just position and feeling ok about it. But there was no fear because he makes me feel safe. Not from baddies and the outside world, although I’ll admit that is a part of it, he makes me feel safe about him. He will not make me feel bad. Ever. It has no crossed my mind that he would hurt me.

But. The thing is. He has a girlfriend. Who he loves, and loves him back, and who he is Infact moving in with. But for the last 2-3 months we have semi-regularly been having secret get togethers behind her back. That doesn’t make me feel great, but I can push the guilt aside. What I can’t push aside is the self-loathing that follows the rendezvous.

Most people would briefly think ‘why hasn’t he called me’ and swiftly, or at least eventually, move to ‘oh well thwt was silly’ and move on. I however, start a self-de practicing tornado of all the reasons he shouldn’t like me, and how terrible it must have been for him, and how our friendship is ruined etc. etc.

But then he’ll text like nothing is happened, I’ll have renewed hope. We’ll meet, I’ll leave, I’ll descend into hysteria, he’ll ignore me for a bit, then get in touch and we carry on as normal. Only after each time we meet I’m already starting a little bit further down the hysterical self loathing spiral.

So I’ve been given very helpful advice to just stay away from him. Ok. Thwt seems reasonable. But, the thing is. I don’t want to. So I keep going back and my friends pick up the pieces each time I make bad decision. But I don’t know if it is a bad decision.

Not only does he make me feel safe, for a brief period he makes me feel wanted. And for those that feel frequently wanted, by friends, family, partners, you’ll think, why not just find someone else. But those of us that are unwanted, clearance shelf people, being wanted is special. I frequently feel needed, but that is different, because I’ve made myself feel needed by my actions. But having people want you is much harder. And something I’ve found elusive since I stopped being a toddler.

Also the aftermath of post-friend drama is much easier to manage than pre-date/boy drama. It’s quicker to fix, I’m a bit more rational about it, and largely, I can talk to my friends about it without sounding like I’ve lost the plot. But pre-date meltdown last for days, makes me address all the thoughts and feelings I don’t want to, and results in all sort of worms crawling around that we’re best left in their cans.

So my options are nobody, or the friend. And I’m sick of being alone and lonely and miserable. So the friend wins by default, even if there is a backlash of melodrama. I’ve no doubt that in a few days, or few weeks, I’ll settle for nobody and continue life as it was pre-meltdown.

But just maybe I can overcome the fear and move on. Haha, that actually made me laugh. Maybe not.

What about them?

I spend a large proportion of my waking hours, trying to justify why people would want me over various other people.  Why friends would  want to spend time with me when there are other friends who are more suitable for the job – funnier, more compassionate, more energetic,
less whiny, less bitchy etc etc.  Dating terrifies me, more so than ever before, because why would they want me over the other prettier, daintier, all the other –iers.

It’s like when you apply for a job that you’re underqualified for, but somehow get an interview.  Then you get the job, and you start and you find out you’re the only that applied for the job.  It’s like that. ALL THE TIME.

Sometimes I feel quite accomplished.  I have two degrees, I’m pretty much at the top of my career in a job I love, I have hobbies that I’m  not the worst at.  But as soon as anything involves social
interaction, I forget that I have any confidence, and I turn into my over-compensating with kindness fifteen year old self.

But, a problem with this is, I’m quite intuitive and socially aware. My job involves understanding body language and communication styles, and I’m quite aware when people lose interest in me, or don’t have interest at all.  So whilst most people go blindly through the day, I see through most little white lies.  Most of the time I choose not to point them out, why make you feel bad as well as me, but sometimes, if I’m in a particularly grump, I will.  And then I turn mean.  Bleurgh.