Seething self-hatred. I did it again.

I am full of guilt and self-loathing because, yet again, I couldn’t resist the urge to ‘act out’. I feel like a total f**king moron; a self-obsessed, pathetic failure. There are so many people who go through struggles in life without resorting to the kind of melodramatics I displayed on Tuesday. My new meds are…

My vegetarian guilt

I’m presiding over a tiny genocide in my home. We’ve had the cutest invasion of mice. We were catching them in humane traps and releasing them alive, but now they’re breeding and the babies are appearing everywhere. I caught this one sitting in our dog’s bed. She has absolutely no interest in dealing with them….

I am sorry

I’m sorry I’m not truthful. I’m sorry I hide things and lie to protect my destructive behaviour. I’m sorry I am wasting my life. I’m sorry I feel no gratitude for the privileges I live with purely by chance. I’m sorry I can see time passing me by and I do nothing to use it….

Therapy today: Repairing the alliance

I am happy to report that after having a really tough therapy session on Tuesday, I was brave enough to talk about it with J yesterday. Walking to my session, I was full of anxious doubts and consumed with guilt. The guilt came from a variety of places. Primarily I was feeling guilty about putting…

Therapy today: A slow motion car crash

I wasn’t looking forward to therapy today. I knew the chances were J would want me to talk more about the events of last week. On Wednesday I had downed a load of Vodka and Lorazepam. Due to the amnesia overdosing on Lorazepam brings, I don’t really remember what I’d said to J on the…

Those things

A hundred and twenty three words the sum of my suffering On scrappy paper scribbled in anaemic biro A watery message without courage He couldn’t even write what he did to me The vast tectonic impact of that rupture in my childhood and the nightmare of now His crime distilled Reduced down to vague words,…

My abuser wrote to me

When I disowned my brother on account of the fact he traumatised me with sexual abuse at the age of ten, I wrote to him. I explained across pages and pages how I felt and the damage he has done. I took weeks to carefully craft something that really explained what I felt. I poured…