I haven’t blogged in ages (WordPress has changed!). I don’t think I really know what I want this blog to be about. I want to write things that mean something. I want to talk openly. More than anything, I want to make a difference.
I’m definitely not applying for a social work MA. And I’m thinking I’m not going to apply for a research MA within my faculty. I’ve got this kind of “sick of education” feeling at the moment. I don’t know why because I do adore learning. I think I am just ready to work. It took me a few extra years to get my A Levels because of being in hospital, and its just felt neverending. I’m ruling out the social work option because, and I mean this in the best possible way, I want to get away from mentally ill people. I really think I want to work in NHS communications, or at least, after my work experience I’ll know if I do. I definitely want a job in PR/communications. Better get practicing my public speaking. I’ll apply for some internships over Christmas.
Going home this week (my sister bought me tickets to see Michael Mcintyre in Leeds, he’s hilarious. I laughed ridiculous amounts) has made me realise how hard home is, so Christmas isn’t very appealing right now. It’s just so hard when your Mum and sister have mental health problems. Sometimes I just wish we could all be “normal”. My sister ended up back as an inpatient and there were no beds at home, so she ended up in London, but she was discharged last week. I think it has done her good.
We are closer than ever, and I didn’t even think that was possible. My favourite part of going home was having a big cuddle. The down side of home is that my eating gets so much hard. But I did go out for lunch, and I did have an ice cream sundae, and this eating thing isn’t too bad sometimes. Seeing my Dad was also difficult because things aren’t great between us right now. I’m getting my head around things he did to me, and I’ve got a lot of internal anger, I guess. In fact, I’m not really getting my head around it at all.
I’m having pizza tomorrow and this is a big deal, but it’s for Xmas/my housemates birthday soooo yeah. Doing it. Then I am off home once I’ve seen my university support worker. Saw her today and she’s just the best. She makes me laugh so much, and she’s so easy to talk to.
My attendance this semester has been awful, like really awful. I need to change that. We had presentations on Friday and oh my god I was fine. Like, I was calm? In first yr I had presentations capped at 40% and handed them in on paper. In second yr I did them, but rubbishly. This year I’ve done the first one and it went the best I’ve ever managed. I mean I didn’t go red so you know, winner winner. I don’t even care if my groups work was fab or not, I’m just amazed I did it. I’m less nervous for future presentations now which is a relief.
Oh, I started EMDR (again) after stopping it early last time and refusing to do it again. I can’t get how someone tapping on my hands is going to be some kind of miracle cure, but I do trust my psychiatrist so yes. It’s weird. I do like her asking questions though because there is less pressure to have something to say off the top of my head.
I’m doing it because apparently this is the “real” work. I’m nearly at my goal weight, and my self-harm is pretty stable following ending up needing surgery two weeks ago, so apparently this is the next step. I thought gaining all of this weight was hard, but talking about the past is even harder. I’d rather gain another 25lbs than do it to be honest. I’ve had one session of it so far, and I’ve been having nightmares. She said it’s going to get harder before it gets better. She has given me some PRN medication to try and help me in the day time, but going into university on medication is horrible because it makes me drowsy and really spaced out. I swear to god I’d not hear if I was being spoken to, and at worst, I’d fall asleep.
The thing is I can’t get my head around none of it. I hear these words like “abuse” and “trauma”, and all I can think is that this is not real. I convince myself I deserved it, or that I made it up. I have periods of time that I cannot remember, and I don’t really know that I want to. I always thought if you were abused you’d know it, and you wouldn’t see the person who did it. But I didn’t even realise how bad it was. I don’t think I even do now. But my good times are really good, so I’m not complaining.