Anxiety is my keeper. Late night anxiety thoughts.

Tick tick tick tick..

My anxiety hears, “quick quick quick quick..”

A constant reminder that I’m running out of time. How much longer until it envelopes me and buries me deep, hidden from the world for the rest of my time here.

No one can help even of they say they can. How can they ever understand what it pulsing through my brain when I can’t even catch any of the words to even elaborate? I hear short, meaningless words. Quick. Run. Die. Fail. Die. The only thing that gets me is my own anxiety. Am I a prisoner to this? Am I destined to stay locked up in this tower to which anxiety has the only key?

I can’t break free and I can’t scream for help because there’s no one to listen. Even if they did. They don’t hear me.

I’m tired of the constant battle between breaking free, waiting to be saved or giving myself completely to my own warden.

I just want it to be quiet.

But still, I wait.

It’s not over til the fat lady sings, and I haven’t sang yet.

Hi guys! It’s been a while. For those of you that’s emailed me worrying about where I’ve been – I’m so sorry. I genuinely didn’t think I’d be missed not to sound like an emo-deep-drama-puddin’ but it’s the truth. Thank you. For every kind message and thought sent my way. It means more to me than you can ever fathom.

Update? Ohh okay then since you asked nicely! 😉

Things are pretty good now at least. I had a bad few months and I couldn’t shake it off. I’m used to bipolic changes in my moods and the spradic emotional challenges but this time was different for me. Anyway, I’ll explain more on my bipolar in another blog.

I’ve also spent the past few months spending time with my sister who’s home for the summer from university. She’s living with me and Mr Clurr til September and I’m thriving with the company. I’ve been outside yes, I went outside! Spending time on the beach with friends and spending time with the loml. I’m eating better and I’m smoking less.

I guess, I took the time out for some self lovin’.

I can’t wait to erupt my head in this again.

But for now, here’s some images of what I’ve been up to.

C xox

Ps; sorry about my face 🙈

Depression’s Ugly Face.

I haven’t brushed my hair in 3 weeks and I can’t remember the last time I shaved my legs. (Gross – I know!) Three of my fingers nails show the decaying flecks of red nail polish from my birthday in April and chips that would give Doritos a run for their money. I can’t remember the last time I even opened my make-up box. Sadly, this is a rinse and repeat cycle I’ve been on for 3 years now. Before depression, my hair was always styled and my face was painted to my sense of perfection every single day.

Now, I stand in the shower, with tears streaming down my face as I pull away the matted hair from my head and watch them glide down the body to the bottom of the bathtub.

I’m humiliated. My hair, which was once thick and full of glorious shine and colour, was once the envy of my friends, but now, it’s ruined. I feel like I need to shave it all off but that just peeks at past self loathing, that I can’t afford to go down again.

I have to fight everyday for the smallest things, things that I once took for granted. Showering.. Walking outside, glaring at the sun too much so your vision was filled with white specks of light. Small things are all I praise now. Before, I’d beam at promotions, academic achievements and new cars. Now, I feel like I’ve conquered the whole world when I’ve gotten out of bed and I can somewhat run my fingers through my hair.

I feel like the world is moving forward whilst I’ve gone back to learning how to walk and not poop myself.

I wish I could tell past Claire how great she had it, but..

Today I brushed my hair.

 

Observe (Post Propt Challenge)

Observe.

There’s this lady, let’s called her Jenny.

I often find myself gazing out of my window , perched on the window seat with my morning coffee and my dog. I see Jenny everyday like clockwork and although we’ve never met, I find myself contemplating her life. Where is she going everyday? What’s her story? Why does she take this precise route?

But today was different. She normally paces with a determined stride, rarely glancing anywhere but the next step she’s taking. But today, she slowed down a little and her eyes stopped on mine. With a ball of coffee mixed with anxiety stuck in my throat, I froze and we shared a moment, pouring into each others eyes. I know this sounds like the start of a great (or terrible) romantic novel but this was different. She smiled at me and looked to the blue sky above. I watched as her chest inhaled and exhaled in a simple sigh. I saw in awe her smile turn into a gentle laughter and she took to my eyes once again. After gently nodding in acknowledgment at me she took to pacing the concrete just outside my garden fence again. I can’t pretend I was anything else but confused, still. I continued to people watch and ponder about life.

A few hours later I heard the clunk of my letterbox close so I went to investigate. Poking out of it was a small, white piece of paper. I pulled it out and read what was on it.

“Life is beautiful. Thank you for sharing that moment with me today – Same time tomorrow?”

Small reminders. You may feel alone and invisible, but today I was reminded that I’m not alone. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll find the strength to walk the paths with “Jenny”. Maybe I’ve made a new friend. But today, the girl who can’t escape was noticed and if that’s not a sign of freedom impending, I don’t know what is.

C x

The morning after I killed myself..

The morning after I killed myself I embraced the smell of the coffee brewing. I opened the patio doors and smelled the sunshine. I sat down and watched the morning awaken through the conservatory windows.

The morning after I killed myself I was greeted with soft purrs from Yuna and happy tail wags from Belle.

The morning after I killed myself I greeted the man I love with a soft kiss on the cheek and a genuine smile. I laughed with him and fell in love again.

The morning after I killed myself I stepped outside into the sunshine and allowed it to envelope around me. I took a deep breath and I walked the path.

The morning after I killed myself I was met with a stranger with familiar eyes, happiness was shared in the brief moment we crossed paths.

The morning after I killed myself I went to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I spoke about the smells, the sights and the love. I spoke of the happiness from the people we’d see.

The morning after I killed myself I tried to unkill myself but I couldn’t finish what I started.
Over the past 10 years this has been my life. I know first hand what depression can do to a mind but I’m so grateful I never succeeded because trust me, my morning afters have always been worth it.

Scream, shout, cry, laugh.. do whatever it takes to ease the pain with people.

You are not alone.

Family

Friends

Strangers

Me.

HopeLine UK – 0800 068 4141

Samaritans Helpline: 116 123 (free of charge from a landline or mobile)
You are never alone.

Is gratitude the highest form of happiness?

Okay, happiness is a term we all know but don’t quite understand it. Hap-pi-Ness. Huh. How do we achieve it? Now I don’t for one minute believe that I’m a happy person. It’s been something I’ve tried to search for and have ended up disappointed everytime. The only thing I’ve found is gratitude. Before I was sick I used to run a charity called “the AIR project”. The charity focused on mental health and homelessness. I’d spend 5 days a week running food packages to those in need and meeting with local housing agencies to find empty homes for the homeless. Seeing the faces of those who need aid, light up time after time. Being successful in helping someone was the only drug I needed. I felt elated. I strongly believe that genuine gratitude is the highest form of happiness. So I challenge you with this. 

1) Think of a person who has had your back, someone you admire, respect and are thankful for.

2) Write a letter to that person explaining why they mean the world to you and what you are thankful for.

3) Now call that person and read the letter to them. No matter how long it’s been, call them.

4) Leave me a comment below and let me know if your happiness was raised.

No matter how dark your days are, happiness can be created.

Video games and depression..

So, I’ve been a gamer for as long as I can remember. Opting to throw myself into the depths of adventures that I’d never go onto myself and choosing the level up set pieces rather than face the outside world. It’s been an argument I’ve had with so many people, time and time again – “it’s not real Claire” “why can’t you put as much effort into getting better as you do to fallout?” “You spend too much time gaming!! You’ll turn into a tv!” Pah! My gaming got worse 4 years ago when I was first diagnosed with bipolar. It was the only thing I could control and unlike my life – I could respawn at any point to get stronger. When my “friends” abandoned me it was the online gamer friends that picked up the pieces. It was them who stayed awake all night just to make sure I was okay. It was them who gave me the strength to know that if I could defeat Alduin, then I could face anything. Gaming is a distraction from the shit I can’t deal with whilst also giving me the sense of accomplishment that nothing else could. Video games give me my creative outlet and allow me to thrive in a way that nothing else can whilst I’m imprisoned within my thoughts.
I might not be able to walk myself down to the town but you can bet your arse I’ll defeat Diablo!

Trapped in my own prison..

It’s been 437 days. 437 days since I locked myself away in a jail sentence that has no definitive time limit. The key is a metaphorical journey that I am not prepared or knowledgeable to take. The prison is my home and my mind. I cannot break free. The only solace I am greeted with is the people that never give up. My loved ones, friends that haven’t left yet and my own sanity that is just hanging on by a thread.

My bipolar has stepped up a notch this past month and I find myself becoming more angry as the days go on. Why me? Why did you have to inbed yourself into my once ever flowing pool of confidence and ambition. I’m waiting. I’m waiting and preparing to battle for my freedom. I will break free. All I need is time.

Remember

The older we get the more overwhelming life seems to get. 
The further we go into this whole “life” thing, the more stress that seems to get added to our plate. If only we could go back to the days of fighting over who gets to use the swing first and worrying if we would get to have dessert after dinner.

The longer life goes on, the more challenges we are faced with. The longer life goes on, the more difficult situations we are placed in.

The older we get, the more mature we have to be to make decisions that affect a whole lot more than they once did when we were younger.

I think we can all agree that life doesn’t get easier with age. If anything, it just seems to continue to get a lot harder.

This may be true, but one thing that comes with each tough situation we are forced to overcome is strength. The more crappy things we are handed, the more strength we are forced to find in ourselves to overcome them.

As life continues, we learn to survive. We learn to survive against all odds. We learn to survive no matter what we have been faced with.

Sometimes we even have to ask ourselves how we are doing this. We find ourselves going through the motions during a horrible week wondering how it is even possible that we have survived so much.

Whatever the answer may be, you are surviving. Whatever the answer may be, you are surviving because you found the strength inside of you to do so.

Each bad thing we are faced with is preparing us for something that will happen in the future.

With each difficult time, we are building up more strength to conquer the next obstacle.

So when you find yourself lost and life becomes too overwhelming, remember how far you have come.

Remember your strength.
Remember your resilience.

You have survived everything before and you will survive this too.

One day at a time.

Dear depression..

We’re like old friends. We go way back. I remember the first time we met. I was 6 years old and we’d just lost my baby brother. You were there. Telling me it was my fault. We met again at 16. You told me you were my only friend and you were the only one who loved me. You told me I’d be better off dead, away from everyone who would hurt me. You told me to kill myself.. then I tried and failed and you told me I was worthless and a failure. You told me I was a losing battle. You told me I’d never win. You’d cover my mouth and bully me down. You made my my race but force me to lay still. With every smile I had, you’d rear your ugly head and I knew better than to carry on smiling. You were consistent in my life for the next 10 years. Kicking, pulling me, dragging me and controlling me like a persistent boyfriend who is poison to me. No. No! You cannot have me no more. You depression, are my childhood friend. You pretend to have the answers. But you got me sick, you put me on suicide watch. You hurt my family. You told me to dive the knife straight through. No. You cannot have me no more. I am not my past. I am worthy. I forgive myself for my mistakes. For believing you. I am letting you go. I will not give up. You will not silence me. Until my last, genuine breath. I will fight. Dear depression, it’s over. Get your stuff and leave. 

Signed, 

I’m worthy.