Attempting To Be A Success

Every single day, I miss my sister. I shouldn’t, but I do. She doesn’t want me anywhere near her, and that’s okay, but it fucking kills me on an almost daily basis because yes, I miss her.

And because my parents – predominantly my mother – think more of her than me. That has been true for a long time. I realised that when I was reasonably young; I was the problem child. I was diagnosed with bulimia when I was thirteen, and I can pretty much date the deterioration of mine and my mother’s relationship from there.

Because my mother caught me. She noticed. She saw what had been going on for two years by that point: binging and purging and self-loathing and bits of self-harm and while she never saw the suicide attempt, I think in a weird way she already knew. Even though I have never told her, and do not intend to. Our relationship fell to pieces because I was the broken child who was ill, and never got better. And never will.

I’m always going to be ill. I am always going to struggle.

But I have some things:

  1. I’m engaged. And I love my partner more than anything, more than life itself, and she makes everything worthwhile.
  2. I have friends who would end earths for me, and for whom I’d do the same.
  3. I have a degree from a world-class university.
  4. I have a job that I love, both as my money-earner and my more general long-term career goal.
  5. I’m a seriously bloody good actress and writer. No really. I am. I love what I do, and I’m damn good at it,
  6. I’m getting help. And I will recover.

So you know what? Maybe I will be the successful child, one day. Maybe I’ll be the one to remember, at the end of it. The one with a life I’m proud of, in all ways – mental, physical, emotional.

I can, at least, strive for that.

Let’s see how it goes.

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Self Esteem

It would be nice to feel beautiful, once in a while. It’s an occupational hazard of having a long-term eating disorder, but I do not like myself aesthetically in any way, shape or form. So it would be really lovely if I could feel beautiful, or you know, passingly attractive from time to time.

I’m really tired today, as well. It is entirely recovery from living with my parents, it’s emotionally very tiring, so today I’ve been exhausted beyond belief.

There’s a strange chasm of communication that happens from time to time with the people I love most. Where I can’t make basic things make sense, or be understandable. It is so frustrating and I can’t work it out. Like when I heavily dissociate and can’t talk, I can’t say the things that are i my head because I’m just not in the building, not how I should be or want to be.

Anyway. Such is life. I’ll get there.

Zodiac Gemstones (and yes, feel free to mock; I already am doing myself)

I am really, truly, properly hilariously drunk.

I’m not proud of myself, I might add. However, it really does the job when the rest of my life is turning to shit. Drunk makes the annoying small bits and pieces of my soul make more sense than it ever used to, so I’ll go with it, at least for now.

And so I watch a beloved TV programme and adore every single moment of it, even when I understand very little. It is so much fun. I am busy and all of the things I have cared about are suddenly relevant.

Like: I used to be a total nerd about gemstones. I know my stones, my partner’s. I know zodiac signs. Of course it is all total bollocks, but I sometimes clutch rose quartz to my heart and breathe my sister’s name and believe, pray, hope, that she remembers me; not the obvious stone, but the complex. I remember her, and I love her, and one day she will remember.

And if she doesn’t, then it is nothing. I will forget. She will forget. It is nothing, I am nothing to her. My sister will never understand the significance of the stone she polished in her rock polisher when she was a child, and I will never confess to the fragments I hold and remember, the weird and stupid and impossible and false things she (and I) remember because it’s not real, because it isn’t there.

Because love and faith and magic are utterly different things. They do not all exist. They are not all real. They are not there.

I only have what I hold, what I remember.

And that is enough, because it has to be.

It has to be.

It is enough.

Body Image

Struggling with weight and body image things, but otherwise alright; I want to sleep for a long time, and wake up two stone lighter without all of my self-esteem issues. Wouldn’t that be lovely. Wouldn’t that be absolutely fucking amazing.

Sorry. Not feeling great. I’ll get better.

Living

Because being female sucks, spent a lot of the day sofa-bound and feeling very sorry for myself. Achieved very little, but hey ho. I am still going to the gym and being really good with that, so at least that’s something.

Living with my parents is hard. I am a lot older than I was when I lived at home, and I’m a very different person – yet not much has changed. It’s really, really weird. I’m looking forward to spending the weekend with just my partner, some time to ourselves.

Other than that, not much to report…

Quiet Day

Very quiet day, probably for the best. Went to the gym, did some more writing, had a bath. Generally remaining very low-key and trying not to get myself freaked about my future or life or whatever, which happens remarkably often these days.

Had a completely useless ‘work focused interview’ for ESA, too. The woman conducting the talk freely admitted it was a waste of time, as I a) have a job I will be getting back to when I can and b) have only been out of hospital a week, so going back to work isn’t likely for a while yet!

So keeping on keeping on. And hopefully will be able to actually do things when I eventually go back to aerial…

Family

I love my mother.

We get on like a house on fire, and I mean it: destructive, contagious and impossible to prevent. I wish I was more like her, and also not. It’s amazing and awful and perfect.

When I was younger, I was her ‘clone’, according to everybody who knew us both. I have become my father far more, now, and I’m delighted about it: he’s the best storyteller I’ll ever know, and he makes me smile constantly. He’s kind, loving, gentle.

My mother is personality incarnate. She has force and unending intensity. My mother backs down from nothing.

I hope I became both. My dad’s perfectionism, my mum’s anger, my dad’s stubbornness, my mum’s passion. I don’t know any more, but I hope, and I will always try to emulate the best of them both. I’ll get there. In the meanwhile, I can only do what I can, and hopefully not alienate either.

Never gets easier.