Dear B…

B, I’m sorry.

When you and I were young and I was still with him, we traumatised you. The cult thing he made that we were both in absolutely was wrong. I’m sorry we were both in it, and I’m sorry I didn’t put a stop to it. I knew it was wrong but I was so ill. I was so far gone in my delusion that I believed that the only thing that mattered was what he said to me.

B, I know I caused some of your pain and illness. I know I pushed you to accept that what he said was the truth. That’s on me, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for later, when another dangerous delusion took hold of me and we both ended up playing with fire. None of that was a good thing and every bit of it was incredibly dangerous.

I’m sorry that I pushed my delusional behaviour onto you, but I’m also sorry that we were both in a situation where none of the so-called “responsible” adults in church around us saw how ill we both were. I’m sorry neither of us were able to be treated for our issues earlier. I’m sorry that nobody realised how fucking evil and dangerous my ex was, and that he played both of us against the other.

B, I’m sorry I didn’t leave him for you when I wanted to that summer. You were better than him, far better. We could have been so happy together, but I was so stuck under his abusive thumb, and so stuck with my family, who still don’t believe I’m bi/pan. It just kills me that I let that opportunity slip away. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough/able enough to grasp it.

B, I wish you well. I wish you healing and joy. I wish you a long and happy life, without him or me making anything worse. I hope you are happy, wherever you are.

Love, this system who will always regret what happened to you.



So my blood tests have come back…

I’ve been fighting glandular fever (mononucleosis) for a while now and I didn’t even know it. The test showed that it was no longer rampaging around my system and causing me to deteriorate, and that my antibodies are busy clearing the infection out. However, from what I know of glandular fever/mononucleosis, it’s stubborn and likes to leave you feeling bleurgh for a while after it’s no longer active.

In the meantime, I’ll be making sure to keep resting and I’ll start upping my vitamin and mineral intake (doc said so, so I shall). Thank GODS I finally have an answer to one piece of the horrendous puzzle of my health.

I’m taking this as a good omen and praying that the next part of the puzzle gets revealed to me soon.

Too far gone for hope?

I’m starting to feel like we should give up hoping that someone is going to help with our pain, fatigue, nausea, dizziness and heart issues.

I swear every time we get our hopes up, something comes along and destroys it flat. I am so tired of it all. We’re all tired of it.

Another set of blood tests have been sent off and we’re waiting for the results. We’re tired and want to sleep all day, pretty much every day.

We’ve been faking being ok recently so that we won’t upset our wonderful Dutchman, but he knows now how bad it is and is trying to help. We’re scared of burning him out.

What is left, genuinely, when your life is dictated by your illness and there’s nothing you can do about it?

Chronic illness: Tiredness edition.

Hey all, it’s 19. I am tired.

I didn’t used to be tired. We were a bundle of energy back in May, happy to chase small children around, work out at the gym and throw ourselves into anything physical. Now, we struggle to get to midday without a nap.


That’s literally what I’ve just had us all do. I’m exhausted beyond mere sleepiness, so a nap has been had. Sadly, I am STILL tired, and more than a little upset by how much I am tired. I’m helping 26 battle constant pain, exhaustion and depression and I quite honestly have no idea why we are all so so exhausted. We are sleeping at night, and we are actually eating.

We are having to teach tonight and we really just need a break. Sadly, we can’t have one.

What do you guys out there do to escape the tiredness that is in your lives? We used to exercise but now we can’t, se we need advice.


Thanks for your support through this awful health rollercoaster. I’m agreeing with that Dr the other day- it’s probably Endo, and they probably saw the distended bowel first (maybe that’s got Endo on it) and though that was it. Sorry folks, it ain’t. The first doctor we saw back at the hospital has a suspicion that the cyst (the mammoth one) was an endometrioma. I mean, Jesus, we’re a fucking classic case. The Dr the other day on the phone to 26 says that she used to work with the doc who signed us up for the laparoscopy, and basically said that you don’t need to see the nodules for it to be endometriosis. We have an appointment booked with her to discuss our options.


The Dutchman is of the same opinion we are- get rushed off to hospital when we arrive in the Netherlands, and then we will see what they have to say in their wisdom. I’m not giving up yet.


Stay cool everyone, 19 x

Reblog: World Mental Health Day

Reblog from an amazing blogger. The bit about coping really helped us today. 26 x

Mental Mummy

I was going to write a blog today anyway and then I realised it’s World Mental Health Day, so even more reason.

I apologise for any waffle, I never actually know what I’m going to write when I start these so it all just comes out in one big mess. Most the time it’s readable though, thankfully.

One of the biggest issues with mental health is, it’s rarely openly  talked about. It’s never brought up in general everyday chit chat either;

“Hi how are you doing?!”

“Well actually I’m really struggling, I have a mental illness and today I had a panic attack that made me feel like I was going to die and then I cried so much I threw up. How are you?”

It just doesn’t happen.

And even with those you are close with, it isn’t easy to talk about. Especially if they have never been through…

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Coming to terms with us.

Us. It’s an innocuous little word, isn’t it? Meaning two, together, joined somehow, whether by friendship or work or family…

In my case, I never realised that there was an us. I thought it was me. Me and my voices that hurt, belittled, derided and abused.

I feel sorry that I didn’t understand earlier that I was in a collective, four wrapped into one. I wish I had learned that I was not alone, in the strangest of senses, far earlier.

I am, of course, referring to me, the younger ones (14 and 15) and nineteen.

It’s become very much apparent that in going to therapy, I have deprogrammed these so-called hostile voices into real, distinct personalities. I have learned that to shout at them provokes a hurt, terrified reaction- much like shouting at me does the same.

I don’t fight them now. We talk to each other, and we do sometimes still argue, but it’s the sort of arguing that takes place between families. I have asked them about things we want to do, choices we have made, and where to go next.

This is what changed when we made our joint decision about what to do, three weeks ago or a little more, when the Dutchman walked back into our lives and turned 14’s head. She was the first to fall, the first to point out to us how we really felt about things. Listening to her would have been wise then, but to start with I reacted as I would before realising that I was multiple, and tried to tell myself that I knew best.

Eventually, we had the conversation about J and the Dutchman. Endurance, distance, waiting… but such fun whilst there? Or the vlinders, the fire, the rush and openness of someone I was good friends with?

Sadly I had lost that spark with J this year. It had been present all last year, the year where I ran continually to him and he let me stay near. I wrote about him with such tenderness, because it was there. This year, I have had to run off memories and scrambled Skype calls and a week-long silence. The younger ones are so triggered by silence. 15 in particular can’t stand it, and she does go down really hard when these things happen.

Asking the younger ones what they really thought that evening on the couch was like fighting a war in my head. 19 was trying not to get involved, although secretly wanting me to just make up my mind already, as she didn’t want to be with J as much as she wanted to be with the Dutchman. 14 was, like I said, head over heels, and fifteen knew that she was confused. She’d sneaked her head out and talked to J a couple of times, and enjoyed herself, but she really enjoyed all the fun she’d had with the Dutchman. She didn’t like the time when J had got angry at the traffic when we were in the car with him that time, and she knew that I loved J too.

With all that in mind, I had to choose for myself. I really really didn’t want to hurt anyone. I wanted this to be a choice made with time and patience. However, the more time I spent with the Dutchman, the more I knew that the choice would have to be made soon. The spark was being kindled, and it was certainly a fire.

Choosing was all of us involved at once. I knew personally that I wanted something that had been in plain sight for two years, but never really realised what it truly meant.

All of us wanted this. All of us were united when we bridged that gap, and cast our lot in favour of a fire that was beginning to blaze.


We have never been so united before over anything else.

The Valentines Day Bust-Up

I have only ever felt this way once before- that was in 2011. The Valentines Day Bust-Up had happened, I was at home in my flat in London, and I didn’t leave the flat for at least three days. I locked myself away, pretended I had a flu virus to my concerned family on the phone, bit my nails to the quick and cried. I thought I was going crazy, and, in retrospect, I was. He had made me this way. Was he proud?

Now, I am feeling similar. I can’t leave the flat where my friends are because I go into meltdown, flinching and terrified and positive I have seen him wherever I look. My friends, Z and N, have looked after me so well. N took me out for a walk so I wouldn’t get freaked out, and Z has listened to me talk about the stupidity that is this illness for hours on end.

After a while, I worked out that I am experiencing an emotional flashback. He impacted me so badly that Valentines Day that I am re-living it, emotionally. I am feeling the emotions I felt then in response to being aware that it was Valentines Day a few days ago, that back then I couldn’t deal with it because I was still under his thumb.

I’m actually feeling less guilty now about not making it outside to take a ballet class. Now I’ve worked out just why I have been feeling so awful, it actually makes sense that I should feel this way and that I should want to hide from the world and feel what I wasn’t allowed to feel back then.

Maybe with a brief visit back home this weekend, life will get better.