Life, and not getting what you want.

I think I’m in danger of causing rifts in my family.

I’ve achieved something today. I asked to do more of something and none of something else, and I’m paying for it.

This time, I feel like I’m awful.

I have upset my sister so much she’s no longer speaking to me. It’s like I don’t exist. I have tried to be everything to everyone, and I’ve hurt her in the process.

I have quit dancing as a career properly today. I decided I was shutting that door and moving on. As a result, I’ve dropped out of all the dance classes I was dancing in for more time to actually do my work on the massage qualification I’m desperately trying to get.

My sister is furious.

She wanted to joint-run a dance company with me, but since I haven’t been well again I’ve been re-evaluating things in my life that continue to hurt me. I have decided that dancing as a career is one of them. This, of course, puts paid to the joint company, and I’ve really hurt her by that.

The problem is, I’ve had enough of the dance world. Looking at my pointe shoes was starting to make me upset. I hurt so badly some night when I finish dancing because of my back, but sometimes also because I hate being in the dance studio all day, every day again. I loved it when my body was whole and did anything I told it to. Now I hate it because I hate that my leg will not lift at the back. I hate it because I have a TWO YEAR gap in my CV which will make all the professional dance companies out there laugh if I ever was to hand it in. The dance world is harsh and brutal and nobody cares if you get injured, because it means it was your fault and you were never good enough anyway, because a REAL dancer will never get injured because they’re too clever for all that.

My sis hasn’t faced quite everything I’ve faced yet in the dance world, although she knows just as much as I do how horribly cruel and unforgiving it can be. What she doesn’t understand yet is what it feels like to have no drive or passion for something you once loved dearly.

I hate the sight of the studios now. I hate my figure in the mirror, making shapes that aren’t what they used to be. My feet and legs look awkward and clumsy to me, and I hate how much effort I have to put into simple steps.

She will hopefully never feel like this. I never want her to feel this way. To hate the art that once nurtured you, to hate it so much you never want to dance or teach dancing again- that’s agony worse than a broken back.

What I have to do now is explain that to her, and hope that her hurt lifts. I don’t want to push her away even more with my idiocy, and my terror of telling the truth.

The reason I’m terrified of telling the truth?

Every time I did, my ex would push me away into a nowhere-state, filled with silence. That was worse that the other way it could go, which was rage. Give me the rage any time.

Right now, this silence could drown out the whole world.


Home again, emotional flashbacks, and holiday withdrawal.

Oh GOD I miss J. Seriously, like a hole inside. If not for my puppy I’d be a lot worse than I am right now- I’d be a crying wreck! He’s so calm and logical- after my last post, I went outside to the pool where J and my mum were. J was already in the pool, cooling off, and mum was enjoying a nice beer.

I had a panic attack trying to get in through the door where my dad had installed a very loud alarm- my brain entered that flight state and I started shaking and crying immediately. All that rage and terror came out in tears, but mum and J were there being awesome immediately. Mum came over took me away from the doors and hugged me til I felt better. J was there, shocked, but calm enough to tell me everything was ok, baby, and to put on my bikini and come in the pool with him to relax. Mum agreed, so I did. It worked. Tears faded, shaking stopped, and within FIFTEEN MINUTES (gotta be a new record there!) I was completely fine again, calm, and making jokes with the family and cuddling J in the cool water.

J can spot my mania immediately, and it’s impressive. Bradley has given me a great tip to manage it now I’m home again (boo, being home is not as nice as being out there with J and my family) and I’m going to start it tomorrow. I’ll set alarms on my phone that will remind me to check in with myself, and to stay calm.

So far, I’ve had a tough ride already. I’m aware that I drank too much whilst I was on holiday, so alcohol consumption has gone down a lot. Tonight, I had a cup of tea (fruit tea, orange smoothie tea!) and a glass of water as my beverages of choice. I’m doing this because when I’m manic, as I suspect I’m heading that way now, I do have poor impulse control and drink is usually the first sign of it. I’ve already had some very depressed moments, but that’s not the bipolar speaking.

That’s something else.

I’m in the midst of a bastard of an emotional flashback right now. For the past few days, I’ve felt unreal and dissociated, and horribly depressed, but the depression waned in the evening. Today it got so bad that I began acting unlike myself- snappy, withdrawn, moody, and exhausted. I even yelled at the puppy- at this point, I’m glad she’s deaf! A long sleep this afternoon fixed a lot of that, and I emerged with a better take on the world. I still didn’t understand why I was feeling like shit, but I was ready to give my day another try.

Dancing was fun and went well, and when I got home, I went upstairs to get changed. Pulling my favourite pyjama/lounge type pants on, something in my head suddenly shifted into place and I got it.

I understood that when I was with my ex, I was used as a fix. Because he was jealous of my family spending an unadulterated two weeks with me, I was often subject to derision and scorn when I got home. He’d cold shoulder me, blank me, and finally fix up a meeting with him sometime or place that was impossible for me. I’d inevitably cancel, he’d throw a fit, and then break up with me. I’d be alone, blaming myself and hating myself for nearly two months, and then he’d need his fix again. He’d pretend to relent, he’d tell me he ‘forgave me’ (er, bullshit sir, I believe you finished with me for no good reason) and we’d be back in the honeymoon phase again. Lovely.

So naturally my poor beleaguered brain still think I’m in for some horrible punishment for having fun. I’m reacting like a beaten puppy and I’m shaking in anticipation of a blow that will never fall.

J’s already been on Skype, commending me for my smarts in realising this. I’m pretty chuffed too… BUT GOD I miss him!!! He knows that, of course.

Another remarkable milestone I’ve achieved whilst away is that I’m better able to do real couple things now. I hold hands with J a lot, I’ll go for a cuddle when I fancy one, and, best of all- I was so tired one night I felt drunk, and slipping off into sleep I told J twice that I loved him. He said it back, and I heard the tenderness in his voice alongside the amused chuckle at how sleepy I was. When I asked him about it the next morning, he said I had indeed said I loved him twice and he hoped I remembered that he said it back to me.

Of course I had.

Stuff will be hard now I’m home. I’m trying to take more responsibilities this year, and I’m hoping I don’t overload myself- apparently, therapy this week with Dr K will be the start of lots of tough things for me. I am very aware there are still big issues I need to face. For instance, whilst I was in America, I had night after night of nightmares and J had to hold me to calm me down one night after I told him I was frightened to sleep. Hopefully, I will get these discussed with Dr K and she will help me become less afraid.

There are bonuses, though. I’m taking on more work so I can fund myself to get to America to see J quicker (I hope), I’m finally meeting a good friend I’ve talked to for a long while, I have a snoring puppy next to me and I’m planning dance numbers for a show. There are definite goals to achieve.

Fingers crossed that this year is the year that I get stuff solved, and not another year where I wrestle incessantly with the contents of my own head.

A blog award!

You meanie, Sista! Ok, well maybe not- but the very lovely Sista Sertraline has given me the Sunshine Blogger Award!



So, without further ado, here you are- the questions you wanted me to answer, plus the eleven things.


1) I’m a little obsessed with certain things. I have to walk on equal numbers of street grids or it goes through me. I have a morning routine that’s identical to the previous day, usually. I dislike stepping on pavement cracks intensely, and I have to turn off switches that are on with nothing plugged into them. A little OCD perhaps, but that’s the way I roll.

2) I love the dark. I have always loved being in my room in the pitch black to drop off to sleep. Sleeping at my grandmother’s house in the country is utter bliss, because there are no streetlights in the village and it gets amazingly, beautifully dark out there.

3) Autumn and winter are my favourite seasons. I love love the smells and festivals and foods in both, and I love how Autumn dies into Winter so richly.

4) My music tastes are eclectic and surprise a lot of people. As I’m sure you can tell, I’m not a person who likes being shoved into one specific category. 😛

5) I wish I had never lost my virginity to my ex. That’s a huge thing to write, and not in the same vein as the other stuff, but I wish I hadn’t.

6) I love the colours red, black, and silver.

7) I may not talk face-to-face with some of my best friends for months, but we can pick right up where we left off with no problem at all.

8) I once got my hand stuck down a drain trying to rescue a badge I really liked. My primary school teacher never let me forget it, the awesome guy.

9) I HATE fondus at the barre. HATE THEM. Pointless pieces of crap. 😛 (Dancers amongst us will get that, I’m sure! That and bloody ronds de jambes en l’air!)

10) I have blue eyes, and J once said they were beautiful.

11) I hate that feeling when you wake up in the morning and realise that something inside you is missing, and there is a deep dark pit of horror and despair there. That’s depression in a nutshell. It feels like falling.





What is the first thing you do as soon as you wake up in the morning?  I usually check my phone. I use it to actually wake the hell up, because I am always in danger of falling right back to sleep.


What is your greatest fear?  That one day, the voices will win.


Do you have a new years resolution for 2014?  Don’t be daft. I hate the things.


What is your favorite song at the moment? Tough question! The Chauffeur by Duran Duran or A River Red by Halo in Reverse.


What is your favorite childhood memory?  Argh, too many! Although I remember so many awesome times with my sister and cousins, I think I will pick when we were all on an American-Carribbean cruise together.


Facebook or Twitter?  Facebook, because Twitter is irritating.


What did the last text message you received say?  It was explaining about a difficult day a friend of mine had had.


What bugs you the most? Mental health professionals who plainly don’t give a fuck.


What do you consider to be the most important appliance in your house?  My phone. I need to ring/skype/text people or distract myself if I’m having an awful day.


If you could have one song that would play whenever you entered a room, what would it be? I don’t know! Maybe Emilie Autumn- Shallott.

What’s your favorite movie quote?  Star Trek- “Are you from the future? Do they still have sandwiches there?”


Hope that was illuminating!




Hi all…

Basically, I am still struggling with my future. I want to know what I should do. I feel like I am at a crossroads in life.

The problem is as follows. With my head in the state it is in, and the enormous pressure of the dance world, I am seriously worried about having another breakdown. I am finally feeling more stable- my mood score for the past two days has been 66%, which is a read achievement for me. I am frightened the stress of moving away from home again. I am frightened of the huge whirl of the world of dance and the cutthroat world of auditions outside of the environment of the company I was in. I have been told I can go back to them, but I don’t want to cut. I don’t want to be offered the temptation of being alone and unmonitored where the voices will literally scream at me to commit suicide, and they won’t be happy without my pain.

Mum is incredible, and says I can try it out and if it doesn’t work, there is no shame in coming home. She is right, of course, but I am really frightened that I am making a mistake.

What if I don’t have the head for this any more? What if I do have to come home after trying to dance again and I’m a wreck and I have to start all over again? I’ll have wasted time and money and I will have got nowhere…

I love the company. I love dancing. I love my friends down south. I want to see them all again and I want to dance… but I don’t know whether I can do it.

It is tearing me apart.

I have other things that I know I would find completely fun and really rewarding to do. I have plans that I want to fulfill and there are so many things that I have realised I enjoy doing that I could make a career from. So am I making a mistake in going back, or am I really doing the right thing here by going back to try again?

I feel like I should make a decision soon. I feel like it is part of the thing that’s been upsetting me and triggering me over the past few days.

Problem is, I don’t know if I will make the right decision.

After that…

So I went to ballet school, with other girls I’d known from my extra dancing classes, thinking I knew them. I mean, they all seemed nice, and I knew them from before. Nothing really could go wrong, could it?

A lot of them ignored me to make new friends, some of them outright bullied me, and the lovely foreign students couldn’t speak English very well. I was alone in a sea of other people. That utopian vision of dance school crumbled pretty quickly.

On top of that, the teacher we had decided she really didn’t like me, and the bullying began from that side, too. She made me feel like the laziest, the slowest, and the most stupid in class. I went from having a lot of faith in my own dancing to being terrified to lift my leg any higher than 90 degrees.

My new boyfriend was very supportive. He sat up when I cried on the phone, listened to me woes patiently, even had his mum on the phone- she was a counsellor, so of course she knew what she was doing. And little by little, he stopped me talking to the people who might have been able to fix it all- my mum and dad. He replaced them with him, telling me not to trust them because they didn’t know what was best for me, and he really did. He loved me. How could I doubt that?

I became convinced they didn’t love me. I was awake most of the night crying to start with, and then the unexplainable tiredness came, and I started to take sick days. Out came the comforting scissor blade again, and I’d hide the cuts beneath pointe shoe ribbons and my thickest pairs of tights.

The bullying, the taunting, the loneliness and ostracisation just continued. Again, I didn’t deal with it normally- out came the crippling self- hatred again, and cutting was used to punish myself for hurting everyone. (An aside- In a weird way, I want those days back now. At least I’d know why I still cut).

Eventually, my boyfriend decided he wasn’t going to deal with me, help me or even just support me any more. My cuts disgusted him. My broken dream annoyed him. He blamed everything on my parents never being there enough to see how badly I was in need of help, and that night was the first of my attempts on my life. I used those scissors to carve into my wrists, and I ran away into a freezing November night. I had spent less than three months there before I’d crashed. A new record, I think.