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TO LIVE OR NOT TO LIVE

I have wanted death I have cried for it I have sought the final oblivion of death for as long as I am able to remember. Yet, I am here, I am alive and I can not help but wonder why? Why did the rope not strangle me, or the pills stop my heart? Why when the trigger was pulled, the gun did not spark? Why, when my blood was flowing, did my pulse still beat? Why when the voices yelled death and murder was I not defeated?

I’M BACK!

I have consulted the technology fairies and the pixie dust has been waived, the credit card swiped, and I’m back in the land of the cyber living. Phew!
I’m also in the land of man flu so nothing of any significance will be gracing my page for a day or two, but I just wanted to say don’t give up on me. There are good things to come this year. Really good things. I can feel it in my waters!

ROLL ON 2019

For me – I feel good about 2019. I choose to believe the worst of my grief and issues are behind me and my journey forward is now much closer to everyone else – ie I’m sure I won’t get everything right but I’ll try not to make a royal fuck up every time a little snag comes my way. I’m calling resolutions ‘goals’ this year.

PLEASE LIKE ME!

In order to successfully publish my memoir next year (hopefully next year) I need to have people to tell about it. So in a desperate and shameless act of self promotion, I’ve created an author page on Facebook and I’d be very chuffed if you liked it.

IT’S TIME

If you’d told me three years ago that my poor, long suffering psychologist would still be listening to my woes at the end of 2018, I would have said, No way! (Possibly in much stronger language.) But here we are, 42 months later, and I still grace her couch on a regular basis. And not just for the lols.

THE GIRL I USED TO BE

Decades of maladaptive coping mechanisms crashed down around my ears, and the words severe depression and chronic anxiety were bandied about – in relation to me. I was in the depths of self-induced starvation, self-harming, highly suicidal, too depressed to function, and suffering the physical misery of high anxiety – pounding heart, shaking hands, internal catastrophising, panic attacks. I’d become one of “those people”.