Chivalry is not yet dead.

I am in a world that I didn’t believe existed. This place actually has some light to see by. I think I can see a future of some sort for myself. It doesn’t have to end with death, I hope.

 

I told J as we kissed goodbye today that I would not die. I intend to keep that promise. I want to make sure that the faint future i can finally see stays put and the void of the dark passenger doesn’t swallow it up again.

 

I am still plagued by them. I know that I could possibly still end up in hospital but at the minute i want to live, and if I have to be cared for there then so be it. J has helped me tell the voices to fuck off and it does work, for a while, but they do creep back in when I’m alone. I know I have to try and tell my parents about the 5th. I know I am probably not better by a long chalk. But the fact that the only man I can stand to be that intimate with me is him.

 

He is very special in that case. I still flinch away from.men and avoid walking close to them- a waiter had to put a dish down in front of me, using both hands so I was trapped in the circle of his arms. J had hold of my hand and saw me flinch and squeeze my eyes shut, and he slipped his own arm round me to quiet me when he saw my fear. I can’t quite believe it. He kissed the scars on my wrist and he has told me he thinks that they are battle scars.

 

I have a lot to beat. I have demons to slay and dragons to tame. But my knight in shining armour is here to help, and it feels more like I’m going to win. I’ll win because we are together.

 

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Bowled over.

I wrote in my journal, and probably on here, that I never wanted another relationship again. I know I wrote about having a phobia of men, and I have written about my assault at the hands of my manipulative ex boyfriend.

But what do you do when love decides that you were dealt a shitty hand, and it throws you in at the deep end?

The voices are calling me a slut for it. They have been telling me I’m just an easy whore, a bitch that likes it, and that I am fooling myself that I deserve happiness. However, I have been better able to deny the dark passenger since J came into my life.

He has literally been there with me at some of the darkest moments of this hell I’m living in. I rang him in hysterics when they wouldn’t shut up on evening, and he calmed me down. I have laughed a lot with him, and we have got on like a house on fire. We both saw each other as friends… Until he came to visit me.

We spent only a day together here in the US, but it was enough. There was something in our time together that kept surfacing and finally had it’s way when a hug that we shared sparked such a deep happiness in us both.

He knows about my attack, and he is treating me like a princess. I am still scared of physical intimacy but a hug from him is perfectly fine, or a kiss. I keep feeling like a whore but I know it’s just the voices. J tells me to ignore them.

He had to go back for a couple of days, but I see him again on Tuesday. I am so excited. I am so lucky.

I know when I get back to England, it will be so hard. The voices will be vicious. But I know I have another link now, a link to keep me fighting.

Maybe together we will win.

A spark, an ember.

I had a text from H today. She’s read about my struggles with the voices and she’s really worried- I’ll call her when I get home and we can talk about all the things that we’ve not been able to say whilst being so depressed. I love her so so much- I was reminded about how much she cares when I read the message.

The voices are still calling me a whore, but I know they’re saving it up for when I return home. Luckily, the spark in my dying heart has been kindles into an ember by H and by an event that has struck me like a comet falling from the sky. Now, somehow, I feel like i might be able to beat the dark passenger..

I love my friend Y lots, too. She is undyingly faithful, and is always there when you need her. She has her own demons, but somehow she is helping me fight mine. I’m going to try and live, make it through this, and see her in November, I hope.

My ember is there. Please, please don’t let it die out again. Please.

Letters to hell.

Post number two of today, but I had to write this.

I am tormented by voices that tell me to die. They have made my smash my fist into my head. They have made me cut my ankle open by kicking out in anguish. They have made my take a blade to my own skin so many times I have lost count. I live in hell, and I hate it.

One of the people I saw for a while emailed me a couple of days ago. I wasn’t going to write about this because I feel completely responsible about what happened between me, him, and his girlfriend. That’s a story for another time. I was used pretty badly and so was she, but i still blame myself because I’m a promiscuous bitch who deserves no better. Ugh, thanks for that dark passenger- I see you’re awake too. Lovely.

However, the email I received was pretty much part guilt trip and part ‘reassure me please’ letter. He said that he couldn’t live with himself if I die. He said that he wants the three of us back together again. He said he feels responsible. And, best of all, he said he knows about the dark passenger.

Ok, what the hell!?!

He CANNOT know about the dark passenger. It is an entity in MY head. I have horrible violent things said to me and suggested that I do to myself EVERY FUCKING DAY. I see blood more than I see hope. I see death more than I see life for myself. I have a DATE OF DEATH planned for me. How does he think he KNOWS about this when the voices are screaming at ME?!

It is understandable that everyone has probably heard a voice at some point in their lives, and I know as well as anyone how judgemental the voice can be. What I am hearing is different. I am hearing voices that have planned my death. They scream at me. They laugh at me. They hate me.

Please don’t tell me you know exactly what this is like, sir, because you don’t have any idea about the hell I live in each day. I have no chance of beating them without serious psychiatric help. I am fighting for my sanity, day in, day out.

To tell me to “fight on” is cruel. I can’t!!! I don’t want to live like this any more! I hate my life! I hate the dark passenger! If I can’t fix this, I am better off dead! I am lost, torn in pieces, erased from life already because of the crippling anxiety I feel, the hideous terror of the voices, and the sweet numbness I still feel when I take a blade to my skin.

So don’t tell me it will be better. Don’t tell me you “know about” the dark passenger. Please just do yourself the kindness of forgetting me, the shit I did to you and her, and erasing this fucked- up bitch from your life. I am poison, and the dark passenger knows it.

Please, A, go and make yourself a life away from me and the terror that lives inside my head. Take her, that girl who I’m not fit to kiss her shoes, and run.

My terror has found me, and it is greedy for my life.

Am I your face of mental illness, Mr News Anchor?

So I read this and wanted to scream. If it had been a story about a poor waify girl committing suicide, or a handsome man jumping from a building, there would have been no mention of them being the face of mental illness. They would have been normal people for whom life had got the better of them, instead of a girl with anorexia who’s condition had finally got the better of her, or a man who suffered from crippling schizophrenia and the voices had finally got too much.

I ask this news anchor to come and read our blogs- us “normal” folk here. I challenge him to tell me, after reading our catalogue of woes, that the bastard who hurt those women is still the face of mental illness.

I’d bloody well tell him to buck up his ideas, the prejudiced git, and open his eyes and heart to the real faces of mental illness- yours, mine, and his. He has probably had something without knowing it, whether it be depression or insomnia.

Books and covers, yeah?

A Call For Support.

Drunk and stupid.

Ok, so tonight I drank too much to shut them up. It hasn’t worked. I feel sick. They’re screaming at me. Again. Still.

I am a mess. I was raped, gods know how many times. I was mentally and emotionally abused by the same person. I have struggled with depression since being twelve or thirteen and I have been too emotionally high to classify as normal in between. I am a wreck now. I am “that” girl- the one who mutters to herself, who flinches when you talk to her, who snaps a band on her wrist to punish herself.

I hate how I am. I let down everyone.

I’m a bit pissed, so if this comes out weird, I apologise. I wish I was never born. I wish that there had been another child before me that would have been normal.

Alcohol loosens tongues. Fact.