A fellow blogger wrote a post two days ago about death. I’ve been thinking about it all day.

I’ve also written about this before..

I too have morbid thoughts, far too frequently. I’m constantly wondering if I will be one of these people who will die at a criminally young age. I look around me & wonder if I’ll make it to my late twenties, my mid forties.. I’m completely freaking out about my flight back to Scotland already – this has been the norm for almost a year now, but that doesn’t make it any easier, especially after reading about the flight from London to Australia that blew a hole the size of a small car an hour into the flight & had to emergency land…. Fuck, it scares the shit out of me. Not to mention I’m constantly watching the people who are boarding said flight(s).

I guess it’s just so much more important to me that I get back to Bear you know? I have to live, I have to live to be with him.

When I was at my worst – ah the days of Citalopram – I didn’t give anything like this a second thought. But now that I’m free from medication, no longer in a deep depression.. & of course, now that I’m in a happy relationship with a man I plan to marry nearly everywhere I go I’m thinking, what if. I look at the man walking on the sidewalk towards me & think, What if.

It’s almost like, with every situation I find myself in, I fantasize about what could happen. I’m talking from falling down the stairs, slipping in the shower.. to boarding the wrong flight on the wrong day.

It goes as far as the past three times Bear & I have gone to the cinema & people have come in late, I’ve had flashes of violence & murder.

I’m on the donor list, but I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made the right choice.. I mean, it’s stupid.. I’m dead right? But I catch myself wondering if I might be needing those essential parts. I don’t want to be buried, I want to be cremated.. but somehow I tell myself that only one of those if the right choice.

It’s so hard to explain what the hell I mean, I’m pretty sure this isn’t making any sense at all but seriously, I’m obviously mental.. I mean I’m dead, who cares right?

I’m feeling almost obsessed by the choices I make each day. It’s like driving past a serious accident & thinking… fuck, If I’d left the house 3 minutes earlier… you know? I can no longer even be comfortable in a vehicle.. even at a stand still.

Then I start thinking, well, I have to die one day.. Is it going to be by my own hand? Someone elses? Will it be painful? Sudden? Slow?

What about my funeral? Where would it be? Who would be there? Oh hell I’ve lost the plot.

Tell you what, I’ll let you pay for it if you promise it won’t be religious. How-sat sound?

Today was a cleaning day. I’m not talking a nice spring clean either. I’m talking a stressed out, cleaning everything I can reach spree.

This is something that runs in my mother’s family. She herself is incredibly anal about the house being clean. She does a full hoover each & every day, she can’t sit still unless everything is clean & she can get pretty darn aggressive about it too.. which brings me to her sister. She’s even worse, so much so that her husband nearly divorced her because of it. He was tired of coming waking up in the morning & walking into a redecorated bathroom & coming home at night to a freshly painted living room. She’s calmed down somewhat but every time I visit, at least two of the rooms have been redecorated. Christ knows the money she’s spent on the house too, all to go to waste. One has to think very carefully about what they eat at my aunts house.. anything that will create crumbs is a big no, no.. there goes my favorite Kizito cookies.

So, I think we can see why I quite enjoyed my chambermaid work yes?

Once I get started, I walk a thin line. It all depends on my stress levels though. Sometimes it’s not until I crash after a huge cleaning session that I realize there’s something deeper going on.

Yes, today there was something deeper.

It’s a collection of issues. Some surrounding my abuser & my statement. More around my having to leave the US again soon, to go back to a place I despise.

I’m feeling incredibly insecure, quite like I talked about yesterday. I’m not feeling terribly wanted either. Not to go into detail, but when you take a step back & let someone know that you will be waiting when they come round & decide they want you.. weeks go by & they still haven’t come back to you like you thought they would.. well it’s tough. Real tough. There’s so much more to this, but I don’t feel I can write about it here, not in a public post anyway.

On a brighter note, the bath time bandit – Rocky is doing great. Miss Toonces & him have been interacting more & more. She’s learned to give him a good swat when he needs it too which saves me the bother!

I never appreciated quite how big she was until Rocky. She’s HUGE! Hell, I’d be scared of her if I were him – I am scared of her! They have touched each other now & again the past few days.. as I type this they actually touched noses before Miss T hissed. She’s still doing that when he gets too close.. but damn, if I was a kitten & some big kitty was waving her big long tail in my face, I’d touch it too!

It’s really great to see them getting on though. It was all very upsetting at first..but they Miss Toonces is finally coming round

Not forgetting a 3 months, 3 weeks & 3 days Self injury free!

Walking down the street today, trying to kill some time before the bus was due, we passed a cluster of restaurants where we simultaneously voiced our hunger pains. Bear pointed out a place we could go & snap I clocked her. The waitress, dressed like a schoolgirl slut – their uniform evidently. I point blank refused & along with that, my hunger disappeared competely. Or did it. I know exactly what’s going on. I’ve replaced one addiction for another. I’ve replaced my self injury with my eating disorder. My ED has always been there. Since my school days it’s been there, but for the past fours months it’s pretty much been hanging around like a bad smell.

Back in High school I’d never ever eat lunch. I’d never eat Breakfast either for that matter but that goes without saying – I’m not a breakfast person. After school though I’d buy a mountain of chocolate & gorge on it, alone in my room.

For this I blame my stepdad. Things in that house (the house I’m having to live in for 6+ weeks each time I have to leave the US) are very controlled. My step father is a control freak & my mother is very much in submission. There’s no such thing as a “snack” nor is there a large serving at dinner, let alone seconds without a huge guilt trip. The numerous comments this man made about my body image in my teenage years has stuck on me like glue. So I learned to comfort eat. This also grew worse during my last relationship. I’m talking tubs of ice-cream devoured in a matter of minutes, then hidden in the garden shed. Bar after bar, wrapper after wrapped hidden in the bottom of the trash, hidden in drawers, wardobes, pockets, bags. I was & still am incredibly ashamed. Oh god, it was terrible.

Nowadays, I don’t eat during the day. But really, that’s not something new either. I’ll knock back cup of tea after cup of tea, but that’s it. Even when I was working hard, physical labour 12-14 hours a day. Perhaps two sugars in one cup mid day when I felt my energy dipping.. but nothing more. Yes, people noticed. No, I didnt’ care.

Late evening comes & I feel I have to eat something, mainly because it’s dinner time & Bear will be eating too.. if it weren’t for him, I doubt I’d even bother. I don’t feel hungry at all. Well, I do, but I enjoy that emptiness.. with that comes the reassurance I won’t put on anymore weight today.. & for some reason, that’s what makes everything okay.

Fuck, it’s becoming more & more clear.

When I do eat, it’s not much. My appetite just leaves me as soon as I see food. Even with half a portion I feel sickly full & I hate it. I hate feeling even the slightest bit full. I want to feel hungry. I want my stomach to growl. I want to be empty.

This is what I do now. This is my self injury. It’s no wonder I’ve been wondering where the urges to cut have gone. It’s all right fucking here & it has been all the long.

It was so much worse back in Scotland & I know it will be again.

But there’s an even bigger thing on my mind, & that’s about the clocking of certain types of women. Christ I can’t even call them attractive can I. But I swear, I can clock an even vaguely attractive woman a mile off & as she draws closer, I freak out more. I’m constantly watching. I mean, I’ve been conditioned to. Mostly, it’s come from my last relationship. I simply cannot cope if there’s an even remotely skinny/pretty/young/whatever female anywhere near me.

So, I clock the girls right, then I watch Bear.. watching to see if he sees them. It’s so fucked up. But then again, I’m left surprised pretty much every single time. He’s too busy watching birds fly into trees & the remnants of the Starbucks mint chocolate chip Frappuccino on my lips. (Christ on a bike are they good).

So yeah, I’m having big issues right now. This has been the first one to come to the boil. I don’t know what to do. Will it ever stop? Will I ever be able to walk past an attractive woman without my mood snapping from happy & content to suicidal?

It’s been so long now, so many years of this & I don’t see a way out.

Call it irrational. But it’s hard to ignore in the moment when I meet people who knew Bears ex-wife. I feel like I’m being compared by all of them. Chances are I probably am, but then again, maybe not. I don’t know.

Where has this come from?

Well, Bear might have an opportunity for work up in New York again. So next time I come over, it may well be to somewhere completely new.

When we planned my first trip over to the states, we thought we would be in NYC but things changed – the job he was in, or rather, the long time friend he was working for, fucked off & things fell through. However it didn’t bother me either way where we’d be & I’m happy we’ve started off in Kentucky. It’s less… scary? I mean, we’re still in a city, & a wonderful one at that, but it’s nowhere near the same scale of liveliness.. nowhere near…well hell, New York fucking City you know?!

Again, call it irrational but I’m pretty damn intimidated by it all. I feel like, in NY, there’s standards I have to live upto. It could be worse, we could be talking LA, but I feel like – & I said it aloud last night – that to live in NYC I’d have to lose more weight. I’m terrified of walking down the street & being the fat one. I don’t feel that so much here in KY, but Louisville isn’t that sort of place. People are different here. To my mind anyway. I mean, sometimes I feel this way no matter where I am.. but for it to be the first thing to come to my mind about living in NY, well damn, it’s a pure shame right?

Yes, it is said old friend who Bear would be back working for again, & yes, he did know & like Bears ex-wife. I do not like this guy as it is, so that doesn’t help my anxiety but I can just see him comparing me… gah. I hate the whole notion.

It’s really difficult to explain the logic & all in this but I felt I had to express it, even though I’m not exactly sure myself what I’m so scared of…

I guess I’ve sort of got over the anxiety with his family, but it’s still lingering with the friends. I mean, I don’t exactly want to live up to this woman (especially after what she did to him..but we won’t go there) who Bear once loved enough to marry – heh, funny how that makes one feel.. I lost count of the times I said to people I could never be involved with a divorcee.. figures.

Now that I think about it, perhaps the only person making any comparison is myself. Sounds about right. After all, some of the things I think about… they’re sure as hell not going to wonder…..

80 days Self-Injury free.

Good god is that a long time. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far, especially with 2 of those months being away from Bear. Even more so because for those two months I was living with my parents. I look back now & honestly, I’m speechless. Where the strength came from I don’t know.

I still have the urges. Everyday. Vivid, extreme urges. When I feel the least bit stress or hurt my scars itch unbearably..But I push through. I’ve mentioned the fact I’m showing my scars in public – albeit I have little choice in this weather but.. I’m still doing it with as much confidence as I can muster.

Every evening when I come in from a day in the sun, I shower & I moisturise. I’m actually taking care of my skin. I’m learning that it’s okay to touch my body, especially the parts I dislike. Even more so my scars. They don’t bite, they’re just…there. To have Bear touch my scars is something that literally blows my mind. I mean, I spent three years with someone who wouldn’t touch them, who told me they were disgusting, hideous.. I’m learning now that they are nothing of the sort. They are part of me & where I’ve been. A written history on my skin.

So on this 80th day I look back, not to dwell but, as I do every time I step out onto our balcony, I look around me & see how far I’ve come.

From experience, shit normally comes a flying just when you start to relax.. so just because I’ve reached the 80 day mark doesn’t mean I can start slacking. It’s still a constant, daily battle. Daily – here’s the key – I can only fight this one day by day. It’s all very well counting the days, celebrating the big ones & being told how well I’m doing & how many more days I have to hang on till I get to the big 100.. even being rewarded with material things – or, more fittingly, being bribed with material things.. isn’t going to swing it I’m afraid. It’s a daily, hourly, minute even, fight that only I can manage.

I’m nearing my “moon tide” (ahem) so, & I have noticed this (good thing by the way), I’ve been a little more cranky than usual. A little more…everything than usual really. But especially cranky. It will only get worse until day 1 of said tide hits but.. I’m not exactly regular at the moment so I’ve no idea when this could be. The angrier I get, the closer we get I guess! So yes, judging by the scale.. we’re not long off Captain!

Since we’re on this topic, I reckon this is related to my freaking out over the food/weight thing. Been here, done this. I mean, moodiness, chocolate cravings & thinking twice before not freaking out every time I catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror as I leave the shower. It’s all linked. My confidence is dipping & I sure as hell hope it’s bounces back.. I can’t go back to how I was before now, I just can’t. And again, I panic, irrationally.

Welcome to my world? Heh.

After losing that stone last month through no conscious effort – merely hard work & stress I’ve been freaking out about putting it all back on. Things are different over here, being surrounded by all the fast food… & of course, I’m not running myself ragged anymore. More like I’m sat sunning myself most days.. craving all sorts of foods & more often than not, giving in.

I’ve not been doing all that great on the chocolate/binge front either. I haven’t gone wild, oh no, not like before.. but I’m still doing it & I feel even worse afterwards.

This morning after a bowl full of chocolate ice-cream – my DQ welcome home cake – Thoughts of purging have been on my mind for the past hour or so. What the fuck. It’s been so long since I went down that road & I don’t want to go there again.

Back in Scotland the past 2 months I knew I was having a serious issue with food. Apparently I’d been seen drinking enough tea to fill an Olympic pool but never eating a thing. I guess that was pretty much true. Even when I went home at night I was making my excuses & skipping dinner. But you know what, I liked it that way. Fuck, I loved it that way.

Why I’m writing this I don’t know. Actually I do. Because keeping a secret like this is not a good idea. Been there, done that. At least if I can write about it here & of course, through this, Bear will know too.. & perhaps we can keep me…sane?

I know I’ll have put on weight – ha, I’ve been here what, 9 days & I’m freaking out – but I can tell, I can see it & I don’t fucking like it.

I may as well be completely honest here since I’ve already written enough to condemn myself & worry everyone all over again ; I’ve been frequenting the pro ED sites again.. fuck. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I should be having it easier over here since most people around me make me look tiny anyway. I tell you, finding several clothes stores that don’t stock your size is pretty ego boosting! Trying on a “small” & it being too big is a great feeling. Or am I crazy?

If ever I need a boost, if ever I need to feel attractive, all I have to do is walk down our street & watch the eyes.. but fuck, what’s the point in that if I don’t see it myself? Sometimes I’m so surprised at some of the people I catch checking me out. I can’t understand why they’d even look twice never mind once.

The first thing Bear’s mum said to me when she saw me last week was “Hello, Skinny!” I was like… hell yeah. But damn, I want to keep it up, I don’t want to go back to… well, was it even the fact I was heavier or was it the fact I had no confidence & would dress to hide? No chance in hell I’m wearing that big, frumpy shirt nowadays.

I don’t know, I’m confused. Honestly I just wish my mind would stop for a minute or two.

More & more every day I find myself thinking about my own death.

This is something I haven’t told people. This is something new. Very new. I don’t know how to handle what I’m feeling.. It’s becoming more frequent & uncontrollable. I’m not talking suicide, no, this fear isn’t something that’s within my own control.. this is, well… death. Accidental, murderous.. call it what you will..

I find myself looking twice a everyone I see. Wondering if they are going to do something to hurt me. Tensing at every other car on the road. Where I used to love when my dad would speed up the car on an empty road…I now have to pop a pill to help me calm the fuck down. Most nights I have nightmares about planes & my flight back to America. I’m so terrified that I’m not going to make it.

I think a lot about whether I’ll be one of these people who die too young.. It’s moving from thinking about when, to how.. & I’m so scared.

I don’t know how to convey my fear in words..

My heart is pounding writing this.

Every little thing I do, I wonder if it will contribute to how & when I’ll die.

What if I didn’t put the lid of the pen back on or what if I use the blue instead of my usual black ink? What if I leave my glass on the drying rack or what if I dry it now & put it away in the cupboard. Now, you can’t tell me that’s not fucking crazy, right?! I mean, these things are minuscule, irrelevant, ridiculous… but I can’t stop them, I can’t stop the panic & the confusion.

I’m going insane. I really am. Fuck, it’s so real to me though & it really is something I’m struggling to manage. Is this a cry for help? Yes.. it is.

So I had a long awaited doctors appointment last week. This surgery doesn’t exactly have, how shall I say, the nicest class of patients – all chapping at the bit to get their weekend prescriptions. They don’t have an appointment system on Friday afternoons so it was pretty much a case of first come first serve. Boy, was the waiting room fun & games.

Take the guy nearest the door, headphones blaring, looking like he’s about to slit his wrists.

The dude hiding behind the tree in the corner, off his face on heroin.

The chav couple with their kid who’s going cross eyed staring at the mobile phone he shouldn’t be using. Mum doesn’t say much but dad, who has that terrible AID’s look about him, is F’ing & C’ing left & right. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a friend of his comes back into the waiting room to pick up his tracksuit glad, heavily pregnant girlfriend where Mr Subtlety asks him, along with a particular hand gesture that’d make the queen blush, if it was “something dirty”

Niiiiice.

Then there was the Muslim woman with her two brats – Dad dropped the kids off, headphones in, not a word to mum – I soon understood why he dropped & ran – However, I was fooled into thinking they were cute when they arrived. Oh how wrong I was.

In the part of town we were, I was surprised she wasn’t making more effort not to draw attention to herself. But no, her spawn were screaming & shouting, throwing the toys around, hitting one another.. not once did she tell them off. That was until the girl sat next to me, after a load of huffing & puffing, gets up & stands for a good 10 minutes, glaring… eyes wide, jaw dropped. She was raging! I swear to Satan I thought she was going to go fucking mental & kill all three of them. So there’s me preparing myself to rugby tackle her.

Mentioning the family to the receptionist – they are well known there, for doing the same thing every week surprise, surprise – my doctor overhears me mentioning the mental case about to lose her rag with them & she says, “aye, well she was dead itchy!”.

What the…? I don’t even want to know. But really, Doctor patient confidentiality much?

Fuck me, still makes me laugh now.

My dad didn’t let me down either, when the Muslim family were called through he declared loud & clear “I do hope it’s nothing terminal!”.

Oh how I’ve missed home.

More to the point, the Doctor gave me Propanolol for my anxiety & it seems to work pretty well but I’m yet to find myself in a situation where I’m freaking the fuck out. Like she said, now that I have something for it I won’t have another attack. If only that were true, but I’m happy so far. It beats being back on Citalopram that’s for sure.

Thinking about this last night, I remembered she took my blood pressure – the left arm of course – & the fact that arm is covered in evident SI scars never even entered my mind. The first doctor to ever put me at ease. In that particular surgery they really will have seen it all I know, but well done that woman!

Since coming off my medication back in October last year my social anxieties/phobias have gotten worse & I’ve even developed some new ones! Oh goody! So since I’m on a bit of a roll with my blogging I thought I’d list a few.. Keep my hands busy – For a start, I’m actually sitting outside, on my own, where people can see me. I am paranoid that everyone stares at me where ever I go, it’s a real effort just to pick up the mail in the mornings.. but I’m making myself do this today, I have to do this. So the more distracted I am with my blogging, the better. So prepare for a long one!

I’m a nightmare when it comes to answering phones – thank god for call screening & voicemail. I’m fine if it’s someone I’m close to – or maybe that should be someone I actually want to talk to, but otherwise, I’m a wreck. I mentioned in my 100 Things that I like to write down what I want to say, like a script if I’m calling a company & making a request.. More often than not I don’t follow it to a tee but it at least gives me the confidence.

Public restrooms are my pet peeve. I have a terrible time dealing with the germs, the squatting, the washing of hands.. You know those taps that you have to push & hold down for the water to come through? I end up washing them too.. I mean it’s all very well washing one hand, but it’s only going to get dirty again when you have to hold the tap down for the other hand. What happens when you’ve got to open the restroom door afterwards??!! I freak out & use the sleeve of my jumper/coat so I’m then left with a contaminated sweatshirt for the rest of the day.. that’s what happens!

Drying my hands on the same towel other people have used? How about No.

Before using the toilet paper I have to tear off the first square – the used square that’s most likely been touched by the person before me. That’s after I’ve lined the seat with half a roll.. In the states sometimes they have seat covers… but in the UK, its a different story.

If the toilet is dirty, there’s not a snowballs chance in hell I’m using it & I will put up with cramps & irritation plus I’ll derive myself of fluids until I find somewhere I’m comfortable with. I never ever used the bathrooms in school, I always waited till I got home (God help me if I was locked out!)..

When a lock doesn’t work on the door I’ll panic & attempt the risky business of squatting whilst holding the door closed tight.. I did have someone burst in on me when I was younger so this one isn’t completely out of nowhere I promise!

Portaloos? Don’t even go there.

Holy crap that’s a lot of bathroom issues.

I’m frightened of pool drains, always have been, always will be. Not to mention I once cut my knee really badly on one when I was wee.. Gah, they’re scary &…dirty.

I have this intense fear whenever someone knocks on my door. Buzzers are fine, but knocking…does something to me. I freeze up & start to panic.. I’m not as bad as I once was, I at least answer it now.. it may take me a bit, especially if I’m not expecting anyone plus there’s no spy hole in the door so I can’t see who it is. Not so long ago I remember hiding under a table because someone was knocking on the door & wouldn’t go away. It turned out to be my ex, he’d forgotten his key. But all the same, it took me a good 30 minutes to finally answer the door – & the phone. Yeah, door & phone at the same time? Forget it – & that’s just what I did!

I’m freaked out by the germs from money, every time I’m handed my change, especially in coins, I can’t help but think about the number of hands they’ve already passed through. It disturbs me more if the person giving me my change is also handling my food.

The part when you’ve just taken off & the plane is ascending..then it levels a little but it feels like the engines have fallen off & you’ve suddenly stopped completely & you’re going to fall to your death? Yeah, that makes me audibly yelp & grip on for dear life. Even when I’m expecting it, it still makes me cry out.

More prominently, recently my fear of death has become almost unbearable. Things like being a passenger in a car scares me.. falling down the stairs & breaking my neck.. My mind keeps playing & replaying different scenarios & they’re really starting to scare me… this is definitely something I will be bringing up with my GP/Psych, don’t worry.

I hate hate hate starting conversations, unless I know someone very well. I will go to great lengths to avoid people if I’m feeling unable to talk & unconfident. I fear I’ll dry up mid conversation/ sentence or lose my train of thought – I’m pretty prone to that already. Though more so when I was on my medication… Perhaps I’m doing better.

Another bathroom freak out is when the shower curtain is closed.. I’m terrified there’s someone or something waiting behind there to get me.

The whole getting ready & leaving the house part of going out is a big, big deal to me.. more so when I’m on my own.

Anything residual/invisible to the naked eye (fecal/vomit/semen/virus/germs) that’s living in my kitchen, my bathroom or my bed, door knobs, shopping trolleys, silver wear/cutlery or heaven forbid my keyboard.

Greeters, store greeters…”Can I help you find your size” kind of greeters.

I”m terrified of food poisoning. I vividly remember being in Portugal with my mum when she was so ill with it… vomiting everywhere. Fuck it was scary. I cried & cried, holding onto my Lion (I’ve mentioned him before) but no-one would come & make it stop. I think this is where my hate for leftovers comes from..

That’s all I’m gonna go into for now. I have to say, after a few hours out here I’m feeling pretty comfortable.