Products of Our Environment

So as the title states – I’m gonna be sharing my own story about my younger life and growing up with a history of mental illness in my family.

Now, I’m not sure whether it’s purely coincidental, whether it’s hereditary or whether being in an environment where mental illness was prevalent was a norm for me as a child and perhaps made me more susceptible to becoming mentally unwell.

Does mental illness flow through my veins, beat in my heart and thrive off my healthy mind?

A woman very dear to me has struggled with inner demons for as long as I can remember. I was about 9 when I first began to notice that something wasn’t quite right. She’d spend days in bed, she wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t even wash. With hind sight and personal experience I can now see that she was in an incredibly deep rooted depression.

It didn’t last days, or weeks… it lasted years.

I began to notice these traits in myself a number of years ago which was a very scary thing for me. I didn’t want to have a halted life because my mind would throw a fit every once in a while.

I decided to push on through, to finish studying Forensic Science, to get an unconditional offer at the university I wanted to study at – although I dropped out! I’ve worked in the Mental Health field and am now heading into working for the Ministry of Justice.

It’s ok to be abnormal, I wouldn’t have thrived as much if I was never unwell or had never battled with addiction.

If I could meet my 9 year old self, I would tell her that she would be okay. That her mum would win the uphill struggle. I’m now 21 and have almost set myself up for life.

This is the year everything changes!

If Kiwi can cope, so can you!

🙂

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Master of Deception

I’m not gonna bore you with all of the stuff most bloggers will be posting currently… the whole ‘new year, new me’ bullshit. You’re still the same idiot you were a week ago, a month ago, a year ago. You aren’t foolin’ me honey bee!

I want to write an uplifting post for the first time in around half a year – that makes me sound like I’m still a depressive mong doped-up on all kinds of meds from the doctor. “Here’s 5 Cyanide pills just incase one isn’t enough to put your stupid ass to sleep for the rest of eternity” – thanks doc!

In all seriousness though… I’ve really grown the fuck up since last year and even the year before that. I was selfish, manipulative and arrogant… basically a massive arsehole! But a switch flicked inside me and I realised I was a raging douche that needed to sort herself out. During the previous couple of years, I felt sub-human, I felt like I deserved no one’s love or compassion except the black dog that was always barking in my head. 

I found solace in the havoc. The sense of self I was adamant was true, was just a facade, to cover my deluded mind set. 

I was a master of deception.

I had grown so used to putting on an external mask, I convinced myself I was better when really I was just trying to polish a turd. Things were mounting up to the point that it was almost unbearable. I could see the surface of the ocean but had an anchor tied to my ankles.

Last year was a true test of my character. I did many things I never thought I’d have the courage to do.

I rid myself of toxic people, negativity breeds negativity. I worked in a mental health unit as an Auxiliary nurse. I applied and successfully got a job which will set my career path up. I travelled through Europe and visited Auschwitz, the Berlin wall and the Red Light District! And after everything… I forgave my rapist and got the closure I needed to be able to move on.

This year will be full of light, love and positivity!

Trust me, if Kiwi can cope… so can you! 🙂

💚💚💚

Dealing with my BPD

I’ve posted a few times about myself being a borderline sufferer and how it’s impacted on me. After reading through the posts, they all had a very negative outlook on what it’s like to have this illness.

I always wrote about the situations I noticed my BPD worsening in and my reactions – but never how I got over the hurdles it made me face.

Being a borderline isn’t glamorous or fun, to put it bluntly – it’s fucking shit! My borderline still lingers around every day but the way I’ve learnt to cope and work alongside it has changed and I’m now at a place where I can say I can keep it in check.

My BPD is mainly to do with abandonment issues and relationships that fizzle out super quick because I’m just so goddamn bored! Sometimes when my anxiety is bad I start to become delusional. I think the most ludicrous things are real and that life is just a joke.

I remember when it first got really bad, I had watched a documentary about the phone hacking scandal that happened a few years back. I got it into my head that I was being spied on constantly, that people were hacking into my phone, reading my messages and listening to my calls. Although why I thought that the government would be interested in knowing that I wanted my Mumma to pick me up a McDonald’s en route back from shopping – I’ll never know!

I’m glad I can laugh about it now because back then, I was petrified to talk to people. I felt like I had no privacy and it made me feel even more vulnerable.

There is no quick fix when it comes to dealing with BPD. There’s also no set treatment that can make it better for everyone. 

Just nurture yourself and love yourself, BPD feasts on your inner vulnerabilities. The second you start doubting your mind and recovery, it will consume you.

Keep your life free of as much drama as you can. Don’t put unnecessary tension on yourself that could hinder your recovery. 

BPD will always be there, but you don’t have to run away from it forever. Put up two fighting fists and show it what you’re made of!

If Kiwi can cope, so can you.

🙂

Disconsolation

These helpless scars that haunt my flesh, remind me of thin-skinned days.

When words and thoughts cut far deeper than any blade.

Each cut, each scratch, each bite mark, leaving it’s own vicious story behind.

Fathoming the disarray isn’t so easy right now, with a hurricane causing havoc in my mind.

Dysphoria screams down the empty, corrupt pathways of my brain.

My eyes have glazed over, I’m forever mistaken for a china doll. Skin so delicate, so porcelain.

My skin is like a tiger’s, bold and bright.

Each cut, each scratch, each bite mark, showing that I fought the fight.

So let me show you this, listen to me roar.

I fell victim to my mind once, but not anymore.

Scars come and go like trains to a station.

But at somepoint they stop, so please be patient.
The past won’t ever change, so why wistfully wish.
You could be a newly growing wild flower that does nothing but flourish.

A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

After being awake all night watching stupid videos on YouTube and crying with laughter at memes on my news feed, I thought I’d go through my old photos and see if there were any hidden treasures I hadn’t seen in a while… (I usually find drunken photos of my friend’s boobs on my phone – standard)!

I got back to November (this is about 1,700 photos into my camera reel) and came across a photo I had never seen before. I remember it being taken, I also remember the guilt that consumed me right after.

You’re probably thinking it’s a bad photo with bad connotations. Surprisingly though, it isn’t. It’s of two people stood next to each other smiling. To most people, the photo wouldn’t bring up any immediate negative feelings… but the second I saw it I had what felt like a tidal wave of culpability crash into me. 

Over the last 3 years, I have tried to commit suicide off of the ‘Faithful Servant’ about 4 or 5 times. I’ve had about 10 people all together chip in to save my life each time. Including the man I only know as the ‘ferry guy’. 

I wish I knew his name so I could write him a letter thanking him for all the times he’s hauled me back from the edge of the boat kicking and screaming. For talking to me when I was in the depths of darkness. For assuring I have someone with me on the ferry whenever I were to get on it.

But above all.

For stopping me one night and saying to me “How are you doing? You look so much healthier and happier now… it’s nice to see”.

A man who didn’t even want a thankyou for the stuff he helped me through. He may see it as just a small thing, but his words have stuck with me for almost a year now.

It’s been almost a year since my last ever attempt at suicide. It was the first time I realised that life isn’t worth giving up on. That I deserve to be here, that no thoughts will ever detract from my true worth.

I need to let this man know how incredible he is and how much I appreciate what he said and did for me when he didn’t have to.


Never underestimate the kindness of strangers because one day, one might save your life.

If Kiwi can cope, so can you.

🙂

The Borderline Blues

It’s what I call the state of mind I’m in right now – not sad, yet not happy. I’m somewhere in the middle of the two and it’s a world away from what I’m used to feeling. It feels alien to me to be feeling both of these feelings at once. I have a massive euphoria in my head yet my body feels sluggish and heavy as if I’m a creaky boat with a cast anchor.

I feel completely at peace, yet I feel so disgruntled. I’m over thinking so much right now yet my rational mind is telling me there’s nothing to be over thinking about. I want to push everyone I know away, yet I want them to be closer to me than ever before. I try and focus on listening to Bukowski by Mooseblood (my favourite song), yet all I can focus on is the mind numbing humming of my fish tank filter and the crank of the cogs in my clock. 

My mind is in one place and yet it seems like it is all over the shop. I can’t keep my attention focused on one thing for even a few minutes without becoming restless and wanting to do something else. My mind is whirring like a racing car motor, it’s spinning in the same repetitive circle.

I don’t feel negativity towards myself or others currently, I just haven’t been used to feeling emotions properly for almost 18 months. I’ve been immune to them in a sense due to the meds I take. 

I’ve only lowered the dosage by 10mg every other day (40mg one night, 30mg the next, 40mg again the night after etc). But I’m still noticing a massive difference in the fact that I can feel things again. For the first month or so, my mood will generally be lower than it has been due to the reduction of robot inducing pills.

I’m trying to make sense of all of these emotions bombarding my vulnerable mind right now. Please bear with me, it’s all I ask.

If Kiwi can cope, so can you.

🙂