The graph. I asked someone if she’d tell me how she did it. She replied that it’s not as though she took steps, one step leading to the next. She didn’t climb up the stairs one at a time. It was more like up, down, all the way up, and all the way down. I’ve been thinking about that for the last few minutes. Like, why? Part of what is bothering me so much is that I can’t see any change. It’s so damn hard, and why? I haven’t actually messed with self harm the way I have for a year and a half. I haven’t been this close to using cocodamol for a year. It makes me feel as though it’s all a waste. I’ve been trying so hard, and, what’s it all for if I’m back here again?

Up, down, up, down. It’s confusing to me. Why would someone keep trying if it’s just going to go down again? Why’s it worth it if it’s staying the same?

I used to use an analogy for this point. I’m going to write it out and see where it takes me. Someone wants to climb a mountain. They start climbing. They fall down and scrape their feet. They’re at the bottom of the mountain. They brush themselves off and get back up. This time they get along another 2 steps before falling down. Oh gosh, why on earth are they climbing it? But then they remember, they’re climbing it coz’ they want to see the sunrise at the top. So they take a deep breath and get back up. Somehow they climb up 10 metres before stumbling over a tree trunk. Luckily they stay their fall with another tree trunk 5 metres down, and they sit down cut and bruised before getting up and continuing on. This happens over and over. They trip, they fall, they stumble over holes in the ground, dips, loose rocks and even their own feet. Sometimes they stop to rest. Sometimes they lie down and bask in the sun. Part of the time it rains. When it rains they get soaked through yet they dance in the rain. Then it storms. Thunder growling, lighting flashing, leaving them terrified. They huddle under a rock and wonder if they should just stay there. At one point they realise that they’re learning. They’re learning to climb. They’re building muscles. They’re tripping over tree trunks less often. They’re still tripping. At times they roll down the mountain all the way to the bottom, where the lie in a heap wondering whether they should bother getting up at all. After all if they stay on the ground, they know the ground, they know what it’s like to curl up at the foot of the mountain, they know how much struggle climbing is, maybe they should just stay there forever? At times they grab hold of roots and stop falling. At times they love the journey, dancing, laughing, smiling at the grass growing, and the plants they’ve never seen. Sometimes they even love the dark nights, the peace and security and the nightbirds. They learn how to live out in the open, in the rough, on the mountain. They fall down. They get back up. They scramble. They climb. It’s a journey. Some of the time they want to continue climbing, they want to build their muscles. Some of the time they want to lick their wounds. They want to sit back and rest. They’ve changed the reasons to climb imperceptibly along the way. At first it was just about reaching the top. Then, when they got to a peak, they saw that beyond it there lay way more ground to cover, hidden by the previous peak. It was okay though, because they finally learned that it wasn’t about the top, it was about the climb. The beauty there was in the climb. In the rain. The snow. In the crags. In the pit holes. In learning how to survive. How to get back up. How to keep on going. How to trust themselves. How to keep finding the way.

The mountain. It isn’t actually the analogy I used to use but it’s more fitting this time. I feel like I’m back where I was. The guilt I feel at living. I’ve always felt guilty, but, it wasn’t an intense, as all encompassing. The nothingness. I’ve always said I want to learn what’s going on for me. I never realised how much I was aware of, until now I’m not. I never realised that I’d actually been tuning in, until now I’m not. I never realised that there was less distance, until now the distance is there. I feel like it’s all the same. Which makes me wonder why on earth I’m trying. When it’s so hard. I want to just curl up at the foot of the mountain and stay there. And you know, it’s okay. It’s hard for me to see it’s worth it, but, maybe it is. Maybe this too is part of the journey.

There’s always been a ‘there’ that I want to get to. I linked a letter I wrote to myself last year about where I want to get to (10th April 2018). I think my goals are worthwhile, doable and possible. Yet, they’re not the only ‘there’ that there is. There’s also the ‘there’ of just living. The there of being. I’m not actually giving myself enough credit. It’s hard, yes. It’s dark, yes. I’m struggling with self harm and messing up in ways I haven’t for a year. Yet, I’m here. I’m not about to end my life – which used to be my go to. I’m not about to use. I’ll probably still struggle with using. Maybe even as much as I was on Wednesday. Yet, I’m not using. I’m not giving myself enough credit for reaching out. S came over on Wednesday and threw away what I’d prepared (and borrowed all I have which she now returned). M came over last night and spoke me down for 45 minutes. Yeah, it’s hard. But I’m okay. I’m doing it. My GP has done what I asked him to do – put in a request for a therapist to do DBT. I’ve emailed a whole bunch of therapists I found and I’m waiting for them to get back to me. I gave a workmate the details for a mindfulness course that I plan on joining and doing with her. It’s a course I did that was really good. I’ve found out about a journey workshop that I’m thinking of going to – if I think it’ll be good for me to I’ll do it. I’m not giving myself credit for doing my part because I’m blaming myself for how hard it is. I can’t see that I’m doing my part for I think it’s my fault that I’m struggling. I think that if only I’d gotten myself help earlier it wouldn’t be so hard. I’m taking responsibility for others. AH ended therapy. He was my therapist for a year. I saw a psychiatrist privately who wasn’t interested in working with me, and who I wouldn’t have seen again because he never listened to what I had to say. I began therapy with someone else who ended it because I’d been upset with her. I emailed a therapist I’d spoken to asking for an appointment and she didn’t respond. Whatever I’ve done doesn’t feel like enough for I’m still struggling today. I blame myself for it all, which, actually is senseless. Therapy ended with AH. I definitely played a major part. Yet, it’s not my fault. Whatever my part in ending it was, was my issues playing out, and he had handled it until then. If he couldn’t work with me being me, ultimately, although I can learn a lot from what happened, it was his responsibility as the therapist. This psychiatrist I saw? I payed just under £300. He was a waste of time. He wrote a letter that was nonsense. It’s not as though he even offered me to come back to him for he didn’t, he told me to go through the NHS. The therapist I began seeing privately who offered touch. I found out it wasn’t necessarily crossing boundaries. When I spoke to her she didn’t ask me whether I wanted to continue with her. She said she can’t ‘as she wasn’t attuned to me’. I realise now that it was an excuse. She could’ve continued if she wanted to. She didn’t want to. In the same sentence she told me she could give me some other names of therapists, and continued that she’s sure I don’t need her to give me names as I’m perfectly capable of looking it up, and wished me luck. She wasn’t interested in working with me. The therapist I emailed asking for an appointment? I also blame myself. Because it was a second email. Yet she could have replied. She could have said yes. Or no. I’m blaming myself because I feel guilty. I feel guilty for everything. But it’s not my ‘fault’. It’s not my responsibility. I’m sure I have a part to play in everything that happens. I’m sure I can learn from it all. Yet even if just through energy I’m bringing what I don’t want, I can’t take responsibility.

So, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I don’t know what tonight will bring. At the moment I feel okay. I don’t trust what I feel for I felt okay yesterday too, and if I read my stuff, well let’s just say I don’t want to read what I wrote. I felt okay on Wednesday too. Wednesday I prepared cocodamol to use. Last night I played with self harm and was annoyed that it didn’t hurt. I don’t trust what I feel. And, that’s okay too. I don’t know what will be. I do know that just as I’ve done it before I can do it from now. I do know that I’m not using. I’m not destroying myself. I’m journaling. I’m trying. The mountain isn’t always easy to climb. And sometimes, maybe, falling down is part of the journey. Tripping up is part of the journey. There is never only day. There are nights. There are storms. And just as the mountain stays there through it all, so can I. So can I.

Another rambling post. I wonder how much of this will actually stay with me and how much it’ll just wash off. And either way, it’s okay. whether I think this way just for this moment, or if for always. Coz I can always think this way again. If not now, another day.

I hope there are no horrendous spelling mistakes because I’m not rereading this.

Love, light and glitter