Insight on humanity
I think I might be addicted to Domo-kun. "Let's go to Tokyo!" Me:"Tokyo? But what about Japan?" "Mer, you idiot...Tokyo is in Japan." Me:"Really? Since when? OH...damn it..." "How the hell do you have an IQ over 170?" Me:"Oh, shut it!"
that last chapter gave me the chills, your story is absolutely Brilliant.
We’ve got obsessions
I want to erase every nasty thought that bugs me every day of every week
We’ve got obsessions
You never tell me what it is that makes you strong and what it is that makes you weak.
's amazing
especially as must be majorly hard to write bout *nod*
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”
“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”
“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”
The purging continued unabated and uncontrollable, leaving my shaking and sore for much of the time. After one particular meal and purge, I sat with a thump on the stairs, not even caring who saw, and sobbed. I hated hating my body, feeling so repulsive, the terror brought on by the mere mention of food, the whole damn mess that I was in. It always came back, I would beat it for a few months, once even half a year, then when stress pressed down on me and self harm became difficult or stopped working, bulimia would sink it’s pointed teeth in, and I would be back to square one.
An unfamiliar nurse damn near tripped over me coming down the stairs, made to move on, the realised my distress. She squeezed onto the step beside me, waited until I stopped insisting she go the hell away, then led me into the community meeting room. We sat down, on two of the circled chairs, and it all gushed out in a nonsensical stream of desperation and distress, the purging, the misery, the self hate, the uncontrollable urges to self destruct in any way shape or form. Wanda, the unfamiliar nurse, put her arm around me and for once I didn’t leap away as though burned. Instead I leaned against her heavily, letting the tears and torment bubble out of me.
When the hysterics had past, Wanda looked at me searchingly. “It was so brave of you talking about all of that, I can only imagine how hard that must have bee. I’ll bet you’re pretty tired now right? I nodded, leaning back heavily in my chair. “But despite the tiredness I really think we need to work out a plan of action, don’t you, to help you get through these states that you get into. What do you think?” Fuzzy headed and feeble, I nodded. I had to take a good hard look at where I was at, and think realistically about recovery as an option, and help and support as a necessity, not an annoyance or a one off shoulder to cry on in crisis. Prevention was so important if I was ever to get out, live my life, and believe that that life was worth living.
Together Wanda and I wrote out a plan for after meals, where a staff member would take me off for a chat and calm down so that I couldn’t purge, and had someone to talk things through with at a time I found difficult. We also split my day into a variety of activities around the milestones of meetings and meals, so that my depression and negative thinking wouldn’t find it so easy to creep up behind me when my mind was unoccupied.
Gratefully I watched Wanda as she filled in the sheet, with prompts and suggestions from me. She was a whirlwind of activity, hyper and heart warming, with a maze of black curly hair, rich dark skin and bright, bold clothes. It baffled me why someone so confident, so sorted and productive would want to work with people who were so miserable, broken and destructive. The question lingered on my lips, but in the end I decided to let it die there. I was too tired, too drained to let my cynicism and distrust question this woman’s motives. For now, she was helping me, caring for me, and that was all that mattered.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
Just to say: The letter after m of the alphabet is wrecked o* my keyboard so I have replaced said letter with * below. The last bit of the story was the last time my * key worked, so it might be a while til you get more i*stalleme*ts or they will have to be sort of decoded!!
Haha because I've cha*ged the *ames of people i* the story it's so bizzarre seei*g them called the made up *ames!
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
Well done Katy!!
That is very clever!! *does little "go Katy" dance*
This story is amazing!! *huge hugs hun*
I'm so glad help was there for you, and really glad you took it.
I think you are incredibly strong for writing it all, and you are truly inspirational!! x
"People have abused you lots in the past? Why do you then abuse yourself more?" - Quote
Sometimes I feel like I'm alone, Sometimes I feel like I'm not that strong, Sometimes I feel nothing at all, Sometimes I feel vulnerable, Sometimes I feel a little fragile
The next day I returned to the same room, this time for the dreaded weekly ‘Community meeting’. This was chaired by a different patient every week, and was observed and helped along by several nurses and sometimes the consultant on site doctor and/or the managers of the unit. In theory it was a great way for patients to air grievances safely with each other, about the unit, about the staff, and discuss problems that affected us all. In reality, given that the patients all generally got on so well, and none of us saw much point in complaining about things that we knew wouldn’t be changed, most of the meetings consisted of mind numbing boredom and endless games of hangman.
For my first few Community meetings we had all sat in the same seats according to close friends and favoured positions and so forth. Recently though, we had discovered that where we sat in the circle was documented after each Community meeting. Armed with this knowledge we rejected the chairs in favour of the floor, and moved around, swapping places for the whole hour so that by the end the nurses were for the most part dizzy and livid, though a Welsh student nurse found the whole proceedings hilarious, and put up well with more than a little teasing during the first round of hangman at her attempt at an English sounding ‘r’, which came out more as though she was trying out a Caribbean pirate identity than anything else.
After the meeting we split off, most going their separate ways. I however, had the sheet of paper Wanda and I had drawn up the night before telling me to stay downstairs and socialise. I wandered aimlessly from room to room, until I was tugged in the direction of the lounge by a stream of soft sound. Catherine was sat in there alone, gently strumming a guitar and humming a song to herself. I entered shyly and she nodded to me before continuing to play, though she upped the volume of her singing so I could hear her more easily. I clapped when she finished, ‘That was amazing! Do you write you’re own songs or…”
“I can write music easily, but I can’t write lyrics to save my life,” confessed Catherine.
“I’m the opposite,” I said, flopping down on a beanbag beside her. “I can write lyrics without a second thought but hand me a musical instrument or ask me to invent a tune and I’m screwed.”
We exchanged a glance and a simultaneous brainwave. I scrambled for some paper, curled up beside Catherine, and together we composed, letting a river of notes, ideas, words and beats flow around the room. Hours later, the piece finished, we sat in the darkening living room, Catherine strumming while both of us sung, watching through the window as the sun bloodied the sky while it set upon another day.
Last edited by Buttons. : 05-04-2009 at 08:04 PM.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
Insight on humanity
