Tag Archives: problem

Bring Me Home

Still living in a world without you…


The darkness still sits inside me. I think I’m over it… I thought I was over it. But it’s like the ghosts – the demons – still live inside me, and I don’t know why. It’s over – it’s been over for such a long time. So why am I still afraid?

The pain still feels like it’s tearing through me – but it’s been more than a decade since the knives sliced through my heart. I still feel like I’m there, feeling every stab and tear, feeling every word and tormenting ache. I feel like I never moved on.

Ten years since I left the pain; nearly thirty years since it started. So why does it still haunt me so? What is my exorcism to be, so I can finally leave it behind?

I know… It’s my life – it’s real, it’s true, it’s mine. I cannot run away from it. I don’t want to – not really. I want to learn from it, mature from it, be a better person for it. Instead I am burdened and tormented by it. But where it should be left is in the past. It has no place in the present. It has no place in my heart. The only place it has is in my history – and it’s been and gone and done with.

You’d think I’d be simply relieved it’s been and gone and done with. So why aren’t I? Why am I hoarding this poisonous toxin of agony to the point where it’s killing me? The residue of my past sticks to me and it feels like there’s no getting rid of it. I seem to have a personality incompatible with getting through this – obsessive, intense, analytical, introverted and socially inept… It’s not a constructive character to be able to bounce away from being dragged through Hell and expected to function well afterwards – especially when functioning wasn’t an easy thing to do in the first place.

But in attempting to get away from these “character flaws” (as I’ve seen them) I’ve attempted (on so many occasions) to mask them – be something I’m not. Without accepting what I am, and attempting to realistically modify myself and grow appropriately – without hiding behind smokescreens of fake interests. The only identity I seem to know is “Victim/Survivor”… So I suppose on some level it’s no wonder I continue to “fake” personalities.

…So is it strange I feel like I fluctuate between being super-obsessive and bossy – actually, dementedly overbearing – and slinking into a bland nothing of no opinion whatsoever, trying to be nothing but agreeable? I can’t find the middle-ground, where I feel I’m allowed my personality, my opinion, but I’m also laid-back about things. I have little – no – social skills… I struggle with interaction and guess what the “right” thing to do is – and I can’t seem to learn. I don’t really know how to behave around people.


There’s a part of my brain that says, not worry about it – it’s just who I am and if I want to learn, then I need to just be comfortable with this fact and then I  have a platform to learn from. I suppose by that, I mean that if I’m not willing to accept who (or what) I am, then I can’t really ever learn to expand on what I am. Instead I keep pasting over faked attempts at pretending to be like other people. And I’m not. A fact that frightens some intense part of my brain. I was bulled from the first time I walked into Playgroup because I was socially inept, different, quiet, academic. The kids started first, then from Primary the teachers enjoyed joining in. Openly so. It was not a pleasant experience, and I think – I strongly suspect – this is the reason I am too scared to be myself. It’s a little overwhelming when people are responding so negatively to you for who you are.

I know on some fundamental level what I am – but I suspect an equal fundamental problem is that I’m afraid of it. No, I’m not horrible or evil. That’s not why… It’s because I’ve always known (I suppose the right word is “suspected”, because I’ve never had it actually confirmed) that the reason for my lifelong torment at the hands of others. I think I’ve just got to the point where I simply rely on reacting to what’s going on, hiding myself behind it.

I’m somewhat scared I don’t even have a personality anymore – not a core one. I worry I never even had one in the first place. I’m scattered everywhere, stretching myself over so many things. I’m not sure what I truly like, what I’m good at, what I can do – and what I shouldn’t do. I feel like a chameleon without a home – just changing all the time, with rapidly-changing background to sync to. I’m exhausted from it. I just want to be “me”. Whatever that is.

But I feel – somewhere – like I do have a home. That I could have a home. A real sense of my own self… But it’s hidden. Like the centre of a horribly complicated maze. Trapped within the ruins of my life; the ashes of what has been. The fires of Hell long burned out within me, but has left nothing but rubble and ruins. I stand in those ruins, looking around me, wondering what’s become of me – of my life. My existence. Am I building or rebuilding? Am I creating a whole new life or am I having to create one from scratch, because I was too young when the fires started burning to have started one in the first place?


At end of all this, I just want me… Myself. Something that’s really real and genuine within me. I feel like dropping down, calling up and begging to be set free from myself and my questions, my torments. I feel like calling out Please Bring Me Home To Myself. 



2013-01-13 22.01.23

The Lure Of The Dark Demon Prince

I can feel that Prince of Demons whispering in my ear again. Threatening to drag me down into the oblivion of Wonderland again… Scattering my thoughts and sending the chill of numbness and fear through my soul.

This time it’s one of my never-ending weaknesses… Food.

For long enough – twenty years now – the horror and fear that food has brought me has been never-ending. Anorexia and Bulimia stalked me throughout my childhood, teen years and young adulthood. In later years I have tried to overcome the mentality it has left, but still it is a difficult and painful task to eat. You wouldn’t think of it to look at me, but that is the truth. Food terrifies me beyond all reason and it’s pure torture to have to voluntarily put it into my mouth and leave it sitting in my stomach.

Imagine, if you will (and this is graphic, but bare with me – and note your immediate reaction to imagining the following), that you are forced to eat, let’s say, human blood, tissue and feces because you’re told your life depends on it – you have to put it in your mouth, chew it up, swallow it, and you cannot throw it up afterwards…

Well… Yes. Exactly… I can imagine how that sounds and feels to even think about. In fact, it’s quite easy for me to do so. That’s the reaction I have to eating normal food – and it’s not pleasant in the least. It’s a reaction I’ve lived with for the most part of my life – and whilst I have spent the last 5 or 6 years managing to override it and talk myself into believing that food is actually good for you, especially if it’s healthy – this awful reaction to food really haunts me still. There is something within my mind that will not allow me to really grasp that this substance is what I am supposed to be putting into my body to feed it and keep it alive. Whatever this is, it makes life in general a living hell whenever it’s time to eat.

I’ve found various ways of coping – the main one being the one thing most people tell you not to do – distraction in the form of watching something on TV (a sitcom, film etc). At work I read the news online, or do work. For the most part, it works to a certain extent. There are still some times where this feeling of repulsion and horror overwhelms me, though.

This happened yesterday and took me completely by surprise – in fact, I was shocked and horrified at feeling it. I’ve struggled and worked hard at it, and I’ve managed for long enough to overcome those feelings, to a point… To have them manifest themselves so vividly was overwhelming and landed me in a heap of emotion to the point where I have withdrawn and become numb. I simply no longer know what to do with these feelings, or know how to cope with them. Once upon a time they were there every second of every minute – more recently they have kept some distance and they are no longer as familiar as they once were. Now as they swept back into my body and my mind, I felt violated – not just by having the food in me (which is what usually happens – I am overwhelmingly repulsed by even the thought of consuming food, generally), but also by the fact this had reared its ugly head again when I thought it was tamed.

It’s brought about other old feelings with it. I’ve immediately become shut-down and numb, and it’s been followed with feelings of being overwhelmed by everything, and mild panic attacks. In a nutshell, I feel quite depressed (and not in that pathetic “I’ve got the blues” way – it’s the “I want to hide in the oven and never come out – and put it on while you’re at it” kind of way). It’s as if it’s triggered that in me as a chain-reaction – a deeply-ingrained reaction of self-hatred from the past. I am rendered exhausted, the chattering in my brain is now incessant again, sleep is nothing but a pipe-dream when it actually comes down to dropping off, and I feel like absolutely nothing is OK in any way or sense of the word.

The thing was… I was really starting to feel quite good for a moment there – I’d had a range of really enlightening moments that made my burden feel much lighter. Now it feels like not only has it been given back to me, but some extra rocks have been added in for good measure. Sometimes when it comes to that adage “One Step Forwards, Two Steps Back”, I feel my experience is “One Step Forward, Fall Down A Cliff… Then have to climb all the way back to where you started before you can even think about going another step forward again”. Funnily enough I’m then too exhausted to go any further for a long time…

To be honest, I don’t even know where to start to get back on an even keel right now. I’m not so bad as I will actually hide under the duvet for weeks on end without looking at anyone. But I do feel scared, intimidated, and incredibly withdrawn into myself now – from that very second of those feeling appearing. These incredible emotions are my own incessant, abusive bully that I can’t seem to be rid of, and it’s now taunting me again. I have managed to defy it by cooking and eating the food I felt terrified of yesterday, and by eating my meals today – even cooking a really good dinner tonight (and rather enjoying it, thankfully). However, I do not know how to make these feelings of fear and intimidation go away. I can barely even focus on playing my favourite game (usually always good for feeling better about almost anything).

The lure of the Demon has brought me back towards its whispers, and I am finding it rather hard not to listen. It’s the best manipulator I have ever met.

Freedom from this Labyrinthian Realm

Feeling lost has been a confusing and heartbreaking experience. Nothing is “OK”, makes sense, or is worth any effort when you are lost inside your own mind. My focus has been gone, and so have I…


I unfortunately only just came to realise that last part though.  I nearly lost far more than myself because of it. I didn’t exist, and it was only after what felt like almost a divine-like epiphany did I actually finally come to realise I hadn’t really existed for a long time. Not the me inside, screaming so loud and for so long to be allowed out. I was a walking zombie, with empty eyes and a tempestuous shell driven by pain, fear and confusion. What had happened, and was happening, to me had drained me of my very soul and had left very little, if anything, behind.


I haven’t sung, written, made music, or read much – if at all. All the things I have always previously adored were nothing but a burden to me. I wanted to do all those things so much, but they were simply too much effort for a scared, unfocused and rambling mind like I had. Lost in a nightmare of a labyrinth, with no idea how I got in and with no way out, I felt always destined to wander about inside it with no way of solving it, allowing myself to be free.


It was music that came back to save me from this Labarynthian Realm. Something in the music shifted something in my mind, leaving open a black hole of realisation I had never experienced before… And I was startled, shocked, and appalled to see for the first time what I had really become. The skeletal-like remains of my personality and character were not what I expected to see – and I had never realised quite how deep inside Hell I had fallen.


I have been here before – many years ago – in a similar situation, and when the trauma-coloured glasses fell from my eyes, I was horrified to see what had become of me. Sixteen years ago it was because I was anorexic and didn’t really know it (or, in all honesty, didn’t want to acknowledge it) – then one day I saw myself for what I really looked like, without the help of the vile disease looking through my eyes for me. I was left horrified and shocked at myself for allowing myself to be taken in by it so – and now I feel almost exactly the same way again now, all these years later. And the things that I have done (and in some cases, not done) leave me feeling immensely guilty – and in some extreme cases, sickened and overwhelmed by what I had done, and had been reduced to.


Yet somehow, I now feel some hope. And, even more importantly, I feel more like I’m on a path towards myself. The me that has a personality and bright eyes and a smile… not a glassy-eyed shell devoid of apathy and running on pure selfishness. I am well aware I am never going to be anywhere near perfect – I have a past that is deplorable and affects me still, and an illness that sucks the life out of you like a greedy vampire that won’t stop. I am no longer skin-and-bone, but food still terrifies me, and I am still learning to co-exist  with my paranoia and perpetual fear of everything (I’ve given up trying to override them)…


However, I have hope I will be at least in touch with myself, feel a little better in my own skin, be more accepting of who I actually am, and treat people like heart-felt humans and real friends – and not inanimate objects who’s sole purpose is to revolve around my tempestuous hyper-sensitivity and make me “feel better”, whilst enduring my erratic and frightening behaviour. I have hope that in time I can learn to be focused on the things I want to do and like doing, without having a panic attack about just the thought of it. I want to write music and sing again, write the book(s) that have always been tumbling about in my head, read as much as I used to, and have some self-confidence and self-belief. It’s going to be baby steps, but I also hope that the projection will be forward, even if progress isn’t at breakneck speed. Moving forward, even slowly, is better than staying still – or worse; going backwards.


I think I have managed to pull myself from the brink of what could have been a huge disaster in my life. I’ve had too many of them and could never have survived yet another one. I hope I will learn to manage the black demon in my heart better, and that I become the Queen of my own realm – not a victim to another one of madness and hopelessness, being lost and wandering blindly and in vain.


One day I hope to be the person I know I really could be. Until then, I’m going to keep on working on it…




Laptop vs. Me

I’n trying to reboot my laptop. It’s not going well. Again.

Tried Medic Drive, from System Mechanic. Nothing. Keeps quoting reboot disc. The only disc I can find that came with it is MS Works 8. I think I can safely assume that is not quite what I’m after.

Just one word.


This fight had been going on about 3-4 months and I’m getting ready to chuck it over a cliff, see if that helps.

I always hated Windows Vista, but this now takes it to a whole new level. And even with Norton running in the background, it still crashed and burned. So not too impressed with them either. Wishing now I’d done IT in school instead of bloody nursing. Computers are much more useful than people and are much harder to put back together when they break.

Plus the NHS is free and Computer Repair Man is so very not.

I need a coffee…

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