Mindfulness and bipolar

https://purplepersuasion.wordpress.com/2012/11/30/mindfulness-for-bipolar-disorder-simpler-than-you-think/

I just watched a documentary called Being Bipolar. The 36 year old guy was like the 36 year old male version of me.

"I've always depended on the kindness of strangers."

It amazes me how comfortable I feel in the arms of a stranger. I'm thinking about one person in particular here - Chris. The first time I met him we slept together. I hugged him like I knew him for years. I kissed him like I belonged with him. I don't even know his last name.

With my clients I was the same. I touched them like I knew them. Kissed them like I belonged to them. And, of course, for that hour I did. But it was something more than that. There was a kind of energy that my unconscious mind utilised. I needed it more than they did. I needed the kindness of those strangers to make me feel wanted. They didn't love me - not emotionally or psychologically(?).  They loved me physically and that was good enough. It is good enough.

Years ago I detested the idea of superficial relationships. Now I thrive on them. Especially the kind that give me good business.

Here's to my suicidal dreams!

Currently searching for a way out. Unsure of how or when it'll happen. Will it happen? I've been trying for almost 10 years.

When I look inside

When I look inside and into my past I see that nothing has changed. I'm still that naive little girl who never learnt to grow up.

I have no place in my family

I have a myriad reasons to dislike my cousin, but there's only one reason to explain why I hate her.

My siblings treat her like she's their own. When it comes to me I may as well be a complete stranger, or even a slave.

If I died tomorrow they wouldn't bat an eyelid.  If she died they would feel a hole in their hearts.

She makes them laugh. I make them cry.

When she's having issues they all jump on board to help her sort it and they'll have the same conversation with her over and over and over again. When it comes to me I'm left to do it all on my own. They refuse to help.

When she's around I'm no one. She has a better relationship with my dad than I do. She can speak to my mum like I can't.  She can make my siblings laugh. I can't make them smile, never mind making them laugh.

I have no place in this family. She has a greater effect on my family than I do.

FAQ 8: Why am I so alone?

I've never had anyone. My siblings were never siblings to me. They've always been my parents. My parents have never been parents to me, they've always been strangers. I've never had friends around who cared enough to stick around, I've never had friends who wanted to be my friends, full stop. The only person I ever loved was my first boyfriend but he just left without saying a word six weeks after we got together.

I snap at my mum a lot because a lot of what she says/does feels like an attack. There's only been one time in the last 19 months (since she's been at home full time) that she acted like a mum to me. I've never had a mum. My sister's adamant that I'm the villain in our relationship but she has no idea. All I want is for someone to care for me and someone to be a mum to me. I just want someone to hug me and to tell me that it's all okay. I've never had that.

I run into the arms of any man who takes me because at least they'll have me. I'm a human repeller. People can't stand me. There isn't one person in this world who likes me for me. Every time I think I found a place of belonging I'm always proven wrong. It's just not meant to happen. I'm just not meant to be happy? Why am I even alive? I'm a waste of air in this world. I'm a waste of life. Why was I given this life to live when I hate it? I don't want to live anymore. I can't do it.

I think I might be pregnant. If I am I'm not getting rid of this baby. I've had 19 months (since my last pregnancy scare) to think about what I would do if I were in this position again.

Feeling an overwhelming sadness.

No one wants me. I'm pretty my own mum hates me. I feel obliged to care for my nephew because she (mum) can't do it well, so I can't go out and have fun/meet guys. I really need some fucking male attention.

Stripping

I want to go into stripping. It would be a lot more difficult than being a call girl but I think I'd enjoy it.

Obviously in my current living situation (under my Muslim family's roof where my curfew is 8pm in the summer and 7pm in the winter) I can't do that, but it's a plan if I'm ever kicked out.

"You have attachment issues."

My friend told me this today. I haven't seen her in 18 months and suddenly she came out with this. I think we were talking about the guys I've [almost] been with and something else along those lines and it just amazed me that it was so obvious to her.

Ahahaha I knew I liked Buffy for a reason.

The Borderline Personality Disorder Test

Apparently I'm overweight.

Surely not?

FAQ 7: I do it because I'm saying sorry.

I didn't realise I do much of what I do to say sorry. I'm going back to uni because it's my way of saying sorry to my dad that I'm a failure as a daughter. I constantly try to keep my kitchen clean because I want to say sorry to my mum for being a bad daughter. I spend almost too much time taking care of my nephew to say sorry to my sister that she had to deal with bring me up when I was a child. I take on the house shopping and strive to get a job because it's my way of saying sorry to my other sister that she ended up with that role. I haven't got the money to spend on house shopping yet still I do it. As for my brother, well, I don't see him enough to do things like this for him - instead I strive to maintain our relationship and strive to converse with him - that's something I have only done for a handful of people in my life.

Welcome back, anorexia! Pt. 2

So, why is she anorexic? I hear you ask. Because I was bullied, because I was insecure, because I wanna be pretty. I have narcissistic tendencies. I never realised it until recently, but my god, do I have great narcissistic tendencies! I want to be pretty. I want to stand out. I love the fact that pervs have a good look at me from top to bottom. I get off on it. I hate that guys I like don't look at me in the same way so I want to better myself for them. I want to be pretty for them. I want to fucking be loved. This is the only way I know to get attention and it's the only way I know how to get people to like me and accept me so I'm fucking sorry if I'm harming myself, I just want to be liked.

Welcome back, anorexia! Pt. 1

Have I ever spoken about my weight issues here? I can't remember doing so.

Without going into too much detail, I was a chubby child. I wasn't fat, I was simply chubby. I often got bullied by cousins, aunts, "friends" and strangers. When I was 10 years old a "friend" gave me a note saying these exact words: "you can't be my friend anymore because you're fat" and that was that. I screamed and cried and my dad got some powerful people involved. Nothing came of it, although my sister did go to school and threaten the bully. That was awesome.

Have I ever told you how I'm a good liar? Part 1.

12 months ago I had just started going through a gradual and gruelling break up. 10 months ago I started working as a call girl. I was 18 years old and still in school. The best was that I was living under my Muslim family's roof. On one particular day I was with a client about 17 miles away from home in a part of London I had never been to before then. My sister called me at 6pm to ask where I was and I told her I was "less than half a mile away dropping my Muslim friends off at their homes because their parents want to make sure that they're not lying when they say they're with their friends -- their parents don't trust them." I got home an hour later and she didn't suspect a thing.

This is the summary of one of my very favourite memories. The longer story shall come on a day I remember to write it! Until then, ciao for now.

A typical day for le emotions.

Just a post I sent to someone on Reddit as a reply. They suffer bipolar, I'm suspecting myself on bipolar. It seemed too reflective on my "typical day" to let go. So here we are:

"I've been suspecting myself of having bipolar but I'm waiting to change doctors until I can discuss seeing a therapist to look into it further. Although I do have BPD, from my own personal research I think "bipolar borderline" would be a better classification but I need to see a therapist before I begin to determine anything.

Feeling sorry for myself

I have no self worth. I've spent so much time convincing myself otherwise in the past but now i realise it might be rapid cycling or the borderline's equivalent of that.

There are times when I feel like I'm on top of the world and times like now where I become a depressive I never knew existed within myself.

When I feel on top of the world is when even the most insignificant good thing happens to me. When I feel like this I convince myself that I am a confident person. I have a tendency to brag about it because I think if I show people that I'm confident then maybe they'll feel the same about themselves too. I'm hyperdependent on the smaller things in life because they're all I've got.

I don't have many friends. I don't know if I have any friends left. "Me, myself and I" is an understatement. I don't even have me because my mental illness just makes me so fucked out of my mind. I'm a fucking screw up.

I constantly ask myself how did I turn out to be like this. Truth be told, I have no fucking idea. I've always been a recluse. I've always been the weird kid that nobody wanted and the people that took her on felt forced to take her on -- they didn't want me. Nobody fucking wants me. The only people I have are my family because we're bound by blood. If my mum didn't give birth to me then even they wouldn't want me.

I'm just waiting for death to come wash over me. Hopefully I can find some peace then.

Remember when love was simply an ideal you could feel via music?

I used to be infatuated with the idea of love. I went to an all girls school during the earlier part of my teenage years so an unfortunate teacher because the object of my affections, or the medium through which I could exhibit my obsession.

Coming up to a year since I was raped.

As much as I like to blame myself or my ex about what happened to me, I've also started to put a lot of the blame on this particular moment. I think it was the 14th. I honestly can't remember which is weird for me because I'm the girl who remembers every date of every significant (personal) event. A huge part of me doesn't want to remember but an even bigger part of me wants to put myself through the torture of having my imagination repeat the day, hour to hour. I did that at the end of last month -- a year since I lost my virginity.