Today has been. Today. Today has been today. How profound is that?
This morning I was messaging TC (a friend) which was good. T always makes me smile. Even just thinking of her. And she shared something cool with me. This morning as in my kind of ‘morning’. This afternoon went out. Was just really calm and okay. Didn’t take much cocodamol this afternoon.
Only took when I came home a couple hours ago. And then felt really icky. It’s like a bone weariness and exhaustion and general ickiness that comes from it. It was interesting to really see the effects.
Would you write a letter? Would you write something like that? If you are happy to, please do, and post it, link it, share it etc. If there is enough we can do something with it…. one warning point though is that I want them suitable for everyone. So nothing religious there.
Today’s been good.
I want to use more and I don’t want to.
I don’t see another choice. But, it’s the first time in the past couple weeks that I’m thinking maybe I don’t want to always keep using cocodamol. That I don’t like how it makes me feel – physically, the general under the weatherness. That maybe I see a life beyond it.
So, that’s today. As I said, today has been today.
Suicide. It’s a word that scares many and brings hope to others. I started my blog elizareasonstolive (which for now is down) when I wanted to focus on the reasons to live, rather than reasons to die. I would post reasons to live, at the same time as doing things to end my life. I lived on the edge. Which is what I wanted to do. I wanted suicide, and I wanted to believe in hope.
Slowly, my life changed. I stopped using, stopped self harming, started eating, and started living in the world. (They’re all still things I can struggle with). I learned what it means to be present. I learnt, am learning, boundaries. And I learnt a lot about myself. I always thought it was about the end destination. About getting somewhere. Instead, I learnt that it was about the journey.
I learnt that the journey is the destination. I started my current blog when I wanted a space to ramble and write things that weren’t just reasons to live or that offered hope. Writing gave me a lot. Writing is the best therapy I could ever have given to myself. When I wrote letters to myself I accessed a part of myself that I never knew existed. I never knew I could talk to myself nicely. I never knew that there was any part of me that believed I was worth it.
Today, today I can’t say my life is perfect, but today I’m happy to embrace the imperfection. There is so much I want from my life. I’d love to know who I am and what I want from my life. I’m looking forward to learning it. Life is a learning game.
For the most part, I’m grateful that I have this chance. There are times I can get stuck in my head, and the biggest thing I’m focusing on at the moment is to stop overthinking. To live. To be. I’m trying to live in this world and not leave this world to live instead in my head.
Nothing and no one is perfect. No one has it easy. Not everyone feels guilty for living. Not everyone knows that by living they’re hurting others. I’ve learned, am learning, to let go of others. To be myself, for myself. I’m learning who I am. And, life is a learning game.
My blog is a positive space. I want it to stay that way. It’s a space where I share some awesome pictures – I love taking photographs even though I don’t publish most.
It’s a space that I want to use to spread love, light, and glitter. I can’t say I use it well, but really it’s just my space. A space I’m grateful for and where I’ve met some awesome people.
Remember, you are worth it. When you reach rock bottom, there is a way up. Don’t believe anyone who tells you it’s easy. Or that it’s your fault. Or that you’re crazy. There is not always another choice. Someone once told me that self harming was my way of looking after myself. And she was right. I was taking care of myself, coping, the best way I knew how. Also, don’t believe anyone who tells you there’s no hope. For there is always hope. I used to feel I was trapped. That no matter how much I tried I was and would always be stuck. I wasn’t depressed. There just wasn’t a way out. And suicide was the best answer. I’m not actually sure how come what I did to myself never harmed me. But I’m not going to complain. I can’t say I’m grateful that I was born. I can say that once I’m here I’m going to make the most of it and try to use every moment. I know life is just temporary. And that you are worth it and way stronger than you believe.
I learnt how to be just a bit. I learnt how to tune into a source. I learnt to pause before reacting. I learnt some patience. I learnt that life is a journey we’re all travelling on and the point is the journey not the destination. I’ve learnt to keep my boundaries more. I’ve learnt that if I do something negative I can leave it at that, it doesn’t have to mean more. I learnt to live more that I attribute the meaning to anything. I learnt a bit about a source of the world. I learnt… I can go on and on. I’m grateful for all I’ve learnt.
what is one thing (or more 🙂 ) that you’ve learnt?
Gratitude challenge day 19: Sign up to volunteer for a day in your community.
Simon did this last year, and yet again this year. Check his letter out here. I should have read his before writing mine… I’d hoped to write myself something way more profound and intelligent. I’d love to see your letters if you write to yourself 🙂
Dear Eliza of 2021
It’s weird to be writing this letter, less weird to be reading it. After all, it’s a letter addressed to you, isn’t it. Eliza of 2021. Though really Eliza, you are the same person you were a year ago. Yah, very different too, but you’re yet the same. I had loads of plans for what I wanted to write, this isn’t what I envisioned. When I read the letter you wrote a year ago, to be read today, I saw that you were humoured by what you were writing, yet when I was reading it, it just wasn’t at all funny. So I don’t know what you will find entertaining today. I don’t know who you are today.
Hi Eliza. Yet another year has gone by. A year. 12 months. 360 days or so. A year. 24 hours in every single day. I wonder what the past year has brought to you. I wonder what you have brought to the past year. I wonder what the world has given you. I wonder what you have given the world. As of writing this, you’ve a year ahead of you. When you read this, you’ll be looking back at the past year. I hope when you read it, you’ll look back with pride. I hope you’ll be proud of yourself. I know that I’m proud of you and that in a years time I will be, too. I hope you’ll look back and see all the good things.
A year ago (well, as of writing it’s today, but when you read it, it’ll be a year ago) you were burning yourself and using to burn more. A year ago you knew you didn’t want it for your life. Today, I hope you can look back and see that what you dreamed of then is your reality. That today you aren’t self harming. That today, you are looking after yourself. I hope that today you are looking after your body. I hope you are respecting yourself. And that if you aren’t, it’s just a temporary blip. For you’ll continue on.
I don’t imagine it’s been an easy year for you. I hope you’ve found it worthwhile. Life is a journey. A journey you didn’t ask to be on, but one that I’m glad you’re partaking in. A journey that meanders. There are hills and valleys. Sunsets and sunrises. Rocks and grass. Sunshine and night. It’s a journey. I don’t know where the last year will have taken you. I don’t know what path you’ve travelled. I know it’s been a journey. Just a tiny segment of the journey of life.
I want so much for you in this year. That when you’re reading this, I’m hoping you can look back and appreciate. I want you to respect your own boundaries more than you do. Just more than. For, I don’t expect you to get there. There is no end goal. For every single step you take brings you to another step. Every mountain you climb has a mountain to climb back down. Every stream you pass will be walked over or rowed across. I hope that you’ll know more about what you believe. That you’ll be more comfortable with yourself and your beliefs. That you’ll be able to live by them with confidence. Irrespective of others. For, it’s your journey and not theirs. It’s your journey Eliza. One that no one else can travel for you. Your choices are yours to make and yours to own. I’m hoping that you own that. That you appreciate, respect and value that. I’m hoping that you’re living your life for yourself.
I wonder where you’re living now. I’m guessing at home, though you may be anywhere at all. Not really anywhere, but yes, anywhere is possible. I wonder what you’ve studied. I wonder whether you’ve finished the course you’ve started. You know that you can do it. I wonder whether you’ve included exercise into your routine. I wonder who is a part of your life today. I wonder who your new friends are. I hope you’ve made some new friends, and I hope you’re friends still with your friends of today. I hope the S’s are a part of your life. It’s funny how your friends all have the same initials.
I wonder. I wonder where you’re at today. I do know that wherever you at it’ll have been a journey. I know the past year is one in which you’ve learnt a lot. About yourself, your family and the world. I hope that you’re feeling safer within yourself and the world. I hope you’ll have found that safety and okayness that has often been so elusive. I’m hoping the year has been one of presentness, or becoming more and more present. You are way more present than you ever were.
I used to think there were end goals. I knew where I wanted to get to. I knew where I wanted you to be. And the end goals were ‘it’. Now, I know differently. I know it’s not like that. That there is no end destination. That it’s about going along for the ride and learning to love the ride, to enjoy where it takes us, and to learn from it all. It’s about becoming. It’s about being – it’s about being present in the world. It’s about being real. It’s about being. It is. It is what it is. And, through it all, no one can ever take away your okayness. Whatever life brings you, you are okay. Whatever life has brought to you, you are okay. Whatever you bring to yourself and your life, you are okay. You will always be okay and you will always stay okay. There is nothing that is irreversible. Other than death.
When I wrote to you in 2019 to be read in 2020 I was glad that you evidently planned on being here for the year. You sorta planned on it. Now, I’m glad that you really do plan on it. My goal for 2019 was taking ownership of my life. I’m glad you’ve done that. I wonder if there is a one word/sentence plan for the next year that you can look back on and see. I wonder if there is a word/sentence intention for the year. Maybe safety. Maybe okayness. Maybe just being present. What I really want for the year, what I really hope you’ve learned is the past year, is feelings/emotions. I hope that you’re able to identify what you feel, I hope you know what you feel, and know how to deal with it. I don’t expect you to fully know. It’s what I hope the year gives to you. It’s what I hope the year has given to you. The knowledge, awareness, and understanding of yourself and your world.
I love you Eliza. Whatever the past year has brought to you, whatever it hasn’t brought to you, you are okay. I also wonder who you’re living with now. I wonder who your company is. It would be cool to see ahead, and it would also take away from it. If you could look ahead and see what is, there is no way you’d live through it. I’m glad you haven’t been able to see ahead. Let this year be one of awareness. And gratitude. And okayness.
I’m glad you’re here Eliza. I’m glad you’re here reading this a year later. I’m glad you’ve lived through the year. I’m glad you wanted to. Really wanted to. I’m glad you’re charting your path. I’m glad you’ve been learning to live for yourself and are creating a life for yourself. I’m glad you’ve been taking responsibility for yourself. I’m glad you’re giving to others. I’m grateful you’re here. And I hope that you are too.
I love you Eliza. And I’m with you. Always and forever. I always will be with you. You’re worth it and deserve only goodness and okayness.
Love you, E
I hope that the next year of 2021 to 2022 brings awesome things your way.
So I looked up some more of the same… I find the quote/saying very apropos for today, for always. It’s hard to see. It’s hard to look back and see that there was a journey, especially when it seems like it’s all been dissed and ruined. When it seems like I’ve wrecked it by self harming and continuing to. For, their is no wreckage of the journey taken. It still happened. It still was. And it was all awesome. Regardless of what today is. Today can never take away the passed.
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.