You did it!! We did it!!

These are the images I’ve posted recently on Instagram

We’re at the end of 2020. And you did it. I did it. We did it. I didn’t think I’d make it through the year, yet here I am. Here you are. It’s been one hell of a ride these past months. Although I haven’t replied to the comments on my last posts, I’ve read them all. And I’m really touched. It surprises me that you’re here and care despite how MIA I’ve been.

Congrats for making it through 2020! Let’s celebrate…

Here’s to a year….

Hopefully next year I’ll be more present amongst you…

Lotsa love and sunshine

E (not Eliza, I just dunno how to change my blog name).

Ramblings about a live

I just watched an IGTV – 40 minute video on instagram, and I’ve so so much to say…. that I’m going to try and put some of it into words. It’s definitely worth watching….

I’m not actually sure where to start, because almost every 5 minutes of it brought up something to write about, which would mean I should be writing 8 different blog posts… anyways. This is really for myself. To out it down.

Her first point was that choosing to have children is an act of courage. About 3 years ago I recall discussing this with my rabbi, and telling him I didn’t want to have children. It’s the first time I’ve heard anyone validate that. I don’t want to bring children into the world. The thought of bringing a child into the world is absolutely terrifying. I’m not saying I never will. I’m still a kid. I’m 26. I don’t know what will happen if I date, or ever decide to marry. Will I want to have children? I don’t know. I really appreciated the validation, the understanding. I don’t want to bring children into the world.

Okay so I’m going to miss out a whole lot of points.

Choosing to love takes courage.

It does. In real life I find it incredibly difficult to reach out to people. Well, online too. I don’t reach out in the way of making myself vulnerable. I share, definitely. I email or DM people, definitely. I don’t message anyone and tell them I’m struggling. I might write a post or story, which says that I am. But because it’s going public, it’s sharing, and isn’t requiring the same vulnerability.

There is someone absolutely gorgeous who lives not far from me. This person has given me the opportunity to be in touch with her a lot. A really lot! I’ve told her how much I appreciate her messages. It’s too scary to build that relationship. There’s also a big part that whenever I have reached out she hasn’t actually followed through with her offer. There’s my part to play. Building such relationships are scary. Terrifying. More than terrifying. I’m not saying I don’t have that honesty with anyone, for I do. My friend M who lives in Israel (I miss her… lockdown means that I haven’t seen her in a year. Haven’t been to israel in a year. I guess she hasn’t had to make that day trip from the north to central – 4 hours each way – in a year).

Choosing to connect takes courage. In any way. Whether through parenting, or teaching, or building any relationships.

I really appreciated those words – not a quote! I teach. My students are the most incredible humans on earth. Most of the students I’ve taught are learning disabled, special needs, or somewhere thereabouts. Teaching is draining. It requires 100% of my focus (which I don’t always have available, which of course brings guilt for they are not getting my all. I do know that my not all often gives more than someone else’s all. And I do give more to my students than most).

Choosing to build relationships is scary. It’s only during the last year that I’ve built a relationship with one of my sisters. A truly honest, vulnerable, relationship with. No, she doesn’t know most of what’s been going on. I’m grateful I’ve spared her the fear she’d have been living with.

Safety. I don’t consider myself to have PTSD, because I haven’t been through trauma. Although I can’t say nothing has been traumatic in my life. The more you talk about something, the more okay it is to talk about. Going off on a tangent here.

Today I was talking to a couple of people on a group call. We were sharing, they did first, what we were ashamed of. The first thing that came to my mind was that when I was 14 I didn’t have good hygiene, which meant I didn’t have friends, and no friends meant no learning what normal hygiene is. That’s something I’ve been ashamed of my entire life. Well, not my entire life. When I was 16 I went to seminary – Jewish girls college – and for the first time I learnt what people do. That hey, you’re meant to shower regularly etc. (My family didn’t practice good hygiene…). I’ve never spoken about it before because it was one of my most shameful secrets. I wrote about this on a private blogpost recently. And today I shared it. And as I was saying it i found it funny. Because. There’s nothing for me to be ashamed of. I wasn’t shown what to do. I didn’t know better. I was the cause of a lack of friends through no fault of my own. I’m going to have to go back to see what I was trying to say, but the point I’m saying here is that the more you talk about something, the more okay it becomes, the more you – I – accept and make sense of it.

Oh. So trauma. There are some things in my life that really impacted me. One of them being my special needs sister whom I was brought up to belief was normal. Who when I was 9 would say she wanted to end her life and it was our fault. I knew I was guilty for living. I knew she was going to due and it was my fault. My sister is a topic that recently is the first time I’m really okay talking about it. I’ve joked about it with my friends. Things like I’ve been sent to hell enough times that hell doesn’t scare me (by my sister and mother).

I’ve come to understand some of my life. Even as I say I haven’t been through trauma, I’ve come to understand that some things in my life traumatised me. And that’s the first time I’m saying that. Yes, writing IS saying. Interestingly enough, on the phone today, one of the people said that writing isn’t as real. I thought, hey, for me writing is real. Is more real.

Trauma brings a lack of safety. Teaches you the world isn’t safe. Why has no one ever put it so clearly into words before? She put it into words in a way that really spoke to me. For I’ve never heard it framed that way. One of the things I’ve said about my world is that there is no safety. I appreciated hearing the why. Why there’s no safety. The world’s definitely not as unsafe as it used to be. I don’t feel unsafe all the time. I don’t feel safe. Ever.

Another thing she put really well was how using something brings along its own set of problems. Yah. Don’t I know that. Her example was a kid choosing to avoid the problem of going to school will create the problems that staying home brings.

Destroying my life, which avoids all the causes for self destruction (to anyone who knows what I’ve been doing, I want to apologise. I don’t think it’s okay for me to have ever written on here what I’ve been doing. For my GP to know is okay – and of course the tight thing. For the psych I met to know, is of course the right thing. They have to know the risks. Which of course there is the risk. Which is why I’ve been living with it. For anyone here to know isn’t okay. I never should have shared. That’s the reason I’ve passworded the posts I’m aware spoke about it. I’m sorry.

Destroying my life takes away the pain of dealing with the world. It gives me an illusion of safety. It gives and control. It brings along self destruction. It brings along the battle of life vs death which is exhausting, and so hard to fight.

Self harm has helped. Side track again. I’m calling it self harm. The past few months I’ve finally named self harm, as exactly that. Self harm. It’s hard for me to say it. Why? Because then I’m saying that’s what it is. Self harm helped. It helps. It helps one problem. It causes others. Such as wrecking clothes I don’t want to wreck.

So yeah. This live brought up a lot. Hang on, I want to check how long I’ve been writing for. Okay. It’s been nearly 40 minutes.

I’m grateful for this space to process my thoughts. I’m grateful for writing, which helps me process my thoughts.

Oh. I wanted to share something positive I posted on instagram. I know I’ve said the same thing before, but, or AND, I’m saying the same thing again now.

If you’ve read this far there’s 2 points I want to say.

The most important point is – thank you for listening. Thank you for being here. Thank you for taking the time to read.

And I forgot the second.

Second point – I’m thinking of you all even as I’m not reading your posts. You all mean so much to me. Your support and encouragement, and belief, and hope, from some relative strangers, means a really lot to me. I’ve read every comment you’ve left even if I haven’t responded. I’m not around much as I haven’t had the headspace (on Instagram I’m reading the stories, not keeping up with posts directly, unless they show up in stories – on the days I check the stories that is). I do think of you all a lot. And thank you for being here.

Thoughts.

I’m sad.

Someone messaged me a really gorgeous message that it’s been a while since they’ve heard from me and they’re a little worried and could I please respond. No pressure but yes pressure.

I’m sad. I’m sad I scared her. I don’t even know if she was scared. I remember TC telling me when I got her post that when she sent it she had no idea whether I’d actually get it or not. I felt the same way then.

I do feel something. Even though I can’t name it.

I hate that I scared her. I don’t know how scared she was or wasn’t. And it’s not like I can even go and tell her she had no reason to worry. It’s not like what I’ve been doing has no potential of killing me. This person doesn’t really know what’s been going on. I’d never tell her. It’s. Yeah whatever.

I can’t really share my world with people. I can on here because it’s public so it’s not like I’m reaching out to a specific person. I can’t reach out in that way. I wouldn’t get what I needed. And even if I did I couldn’t risk not getting it. And I know I don’t deserve others to be there. I know I can’t reach out to others for I’m not worthy of their time. Which is also why all the people who respond here mean so much to me. Especially those who don’t know me at all. You know who you are. I haven’t read your blog. I don’t know your life. I haven’t been here for you. Yet you’re here for me. What’s ironic is how many people I have always responded to and been there for who haven’t been here for me. Most of them I don’t care. I know I don’t deserve it.

I wish she hadn’t been scared. I replied. And. I’m sad I scared her.

Somehow I’m still here. I’m not sure how come I still am. There were so many times during the past few months that I knew I wouldn’t be. Yet I’m here.

I bought myself something expensive yesterday. I’ve been wanting it for months but I haven’t bought it because I may not live, and if I’m not alive than it’s pointless buying it. As in I don’t want the money to be wasted. Buying it, whether I do or don’t keep it (I wonder if it may go down in price over lockdown) is an affirmation of life. Is a statement that I believe I’m going to be here to use and make use of it.

I emailed someone some of this. I feel bad. I know she’ll respond. I’m obligating her to respond. And for all I know this is all too much for her. She just replied and she completely missed the point. I succeeded in scaring her but whatever. Her emails mean way too much to me. I’m on edge until she responds. And then I often have to explain what I meant.

I need to sleep.

Relationships, boundaries, and responsibility 3

Saying yes, taking responsibility, gave me the right to exist. K, so I’m speculating here, but I’m trying to put my thoughts into words, and either it’s true, or it’s not. I’m going to put it down. And it could be I’ll turn around one day and say that this is nonsense.

I grew up feeling responsible for others.

I grew up feeling guilty for existing. The guilt comes from the fact that through existing, by living, I’m hurting others. That’s not just speculation or a kids thoughts. It’s still the reality today. By existing I’m hurting someone. By living I have hurt people. Not through anything I did. Just through existing. One of those people have changed a lot. I no longer hurt her through my existence. I’m not blaming myself here. I never did anything wrong. That person was threatened by my existence. I did nothing to cause that. It was her issue. She’s changed. The person I still hurt through existing has special needs, mental health difficulties etc and will not be able to change. The fact is I hurt her by living. I don’t think I feel guilty for it any longer. I used to. By now I know it’s not my problem. There are others I hurt by being me. It’s not my existence that hurts them, but that I’m me. And if I ever truly live my own life I’ll really hurt my parents.

The guilt for living has played a big role in my life. I still don’t believe I’m allowed to exist, however I don’t feel guilty for those people.

I’m wondering if giving to others, being whatever others needed me to be, justified my existence somewhat. I’m here, and I shouldn’t be here, because I’m hurting people, their lives would be better without me, if I’m making other peoples lives better, maybe it balances that out. Makes it somewhat okay that I’m living, even though I shouldn’t be. Balances out the pain I’m causing to others.

The only problem there lies that giving gives meaning to my life. I love giving to others. Not because I have to. Not because it justifies my existence. But because I love giving.

When I said that saying no goes against my nature R’R commented nature or conditioning?

I think both. Conditioning is that I’m not allowed to exist. Nature is I love to give. Whether by nature or by nurture I feel others. Whether that’s inherent or something I had to develop or both. When I was speaking to E she told me about her arm hurting. I felt the pain in my own arm. Not physically, but yes physically. I don’t know how to explain it. Her pain hurt me. I don’t really know what physical agony feels like. I know I’ve experienced physical agony – when I got burned (I’d say burned myself but that sounds like I caused it. Someone dropped a pot. Thankfully of water!!!!! It could have been the oil pot…) and my arm was debrided – do not google. I wrote a poem then about pain. I don’t recall the pain. I recall hating others doing things for me. I couldn’t do anything because I couldn’t use my arm at all…

I feel others pain. I want to take their pain and take it away from them. I feel others pain too much. It’s funny how I so feel others pain yet cannot feel anything about or for myself. Though then again my life was a pretty calm, good life.

Anyways, the point I was making is that I love to give. And that giving gives meaning to my life. And that I wonder if giving was a way for me to justify my existence.

This is also why I think I don’t ADHD. Because I go back to what I started off with. A past friend once said to me that she loved how though I’d jump from A, to B, to C, I’d always go back to A, to B, to C.

At the moment…

I’m not rereading this. Blaming it on the hour.

Trigger warning.

I just want to put this down.

Today has been long. R’R asked a charity here if they can help. Why does he care??? So had work this morning, then filled out this online link, work, people.

Then. Last week I took a blood test. To get a blood test done I had to get a dr to request it so spoke to a GP in the surgery, not my GP, but one who is actually really nice. Had the blood test the next day. That night the out of hours surgery called to tell me that my paracetamol levels were high (well, duh), and it took me a while to tell them to leave the info with my GP. That freaked me out and, that night I knew I’d be dead sooner rather than later.

I asked S if she could do some energy work. I’m assuming it helped because come a couple days ago, life seems possible. Doable. Not just ‘I don’t want to hurt others through dying but death is inevitable’, but, ‘maybe life could be possible’.

This afternoon, just after I got home from school, the dr I spoke to last week called me. She said that one of the liver enzymes are high. She said whatever she said, I can’t recall the conversation, just that she would think I should go to the A&E. To make sure the damage isn’t irreparable. I told her to speak to my GP. I had planned on calling him today but didn’t as I knew she was going to.

And just.

Why now?

And I don’t care.

And I don’t know what I want.

So there’s a few points.

Death would hurt people. It would hurt those who would miss me if I were gone. There are some people I haven’t been in touch with much because I didn’t want there to be such a large gap in their lives when I left them. It would hurt those who feel guilty (though they should know I’d be at peace). It’d hurt those it would trigger.

Meaning to life for me is giving. There are so many dreams I’ve always had about making the world a better place.

Those 2 points are on the side of life.

I don’t know what the rest of the blood results were. I don’t know how high. I do know with certainty that going to the hospital would be the worst thing possible for me. I wouldn’t handle it well. It’d wreck my life, and the reasons on lifes side, which I’ve chosen, would be meaningless.

Then, after 5, I looked at my emails. And saw a response from the online service. It was a really gorgeous response, and wasn’t in response to what I’d written there, but to what R had passed on (in the online form you were meant to write 50 words or so. So I only wrote a couple sentences). With an offer to speak. Or chat online. At around 4. Which was past. I replied only a couple sentences that both work because I wanted the response to potentially go through before the end of the day. Trying to write a proper response would take hours. And now I don’t feel I can write a proper response for I’ve responded. And I don’t know if it’s the same person who will see it. Either way. I’m grateful they responded. And no clue where it will lead.

Found the day weird. It’s ironic. That. On Monday I reached out to 2 people for help. I find reaching out hard because, well asides for knowing no one cares and I don’t deserve it and all that, there’s the entire I need to take responsibility for my own life thing. I can’t just find the balance and ask for help because I never took responsibility until recently and I don’t know how to do this thing.

So I think there are 2 charities here that may actually help. And work has started. And I’m trying to stay okay. And get to a better place. And now I’m told that one of the liver enzymes may be high? Like, what? Why now?? And why now when I’ve actually been taking less. Well actually, I don’t know if I have been. I don’t know. It’s just. It’s just.

Some of what I ordered for people last week came today (I want them to have mementos. Know I love them always). When I saw it this morning I was like, kay. Now I want them to get them already. And need to get stuff for those I didn’t get anything for. I want them to know I love them always. Always and forever.

My day has been such a mixture.

On the one hand is all the above. On the other hand I spent my day in a really productive way, work, family, time with a gorgeous child, out with a friend, out with a workmate/friend, lift to my mother, phone to a friend, reading, now writing this at 2am. Productive. Healthy. Good things. And I don’t know. This drs call earlier freaked me out. Seeing I’d missed the message from the charity made me sad. And I say ‘sad’ when honestly I feel nothing at all.

An online ‘friend’ messaged me how my insights during this time really help her. Funny.

Tomorrow is another day.

When there’s nothing to say…

Trigger warning suicidality.

… the past week has been chaotic. Chaotic is an understatement. And there is no way I’d ever write in public what I’m thinking or doing at the time. I wouldn’t even wrote it in password protected posts. Because they could be read. Even though I know most people don’t read them. And I’m rambling about absolutely nothing. For there’s just nothing to say. But I want to out this down.

Trigger warning.

Today’s calmer.

Yesterday’s been calmer.

Do I really want to put it into words?

I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t really understand how come I’m still here. I didn’t do anything. But. I don’t know.

In my head I planned what’s going to be with my money. The messages I’d leave for people to get 3 months later.

You know when you’re choosing to live but death is an inevitability regardless of your choice not to die? Or you don’t know.

I wrote myself a letter. One of those nights. And what I found, still find, so incredible, is how I can be so positive and hopeful on the one hand, and on the other hand prepare stuff for when death is inevitable.

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Life is a journey. Definitely calmer after writing this letter. No clue how long it'll last. I'm believing it will be okay. I'm choosing to believe that it will be okay. I'm choosing to believe I won't end it. As I said a while ago, if god wants me to die, I've given enough opportunities for that to happen, nothing I do will cause death if I'm meant to live. So I may as well not do anything on that end. I'm choosing to believe in hope. I'm choosing to believe in possibility. I'm choosing to believe in life. It hurts. It doesn't feel like it hurts but I know that it does. How profound is that??? Life is a journey. I didn't ask to be on this journey. Yet I am here. I don't want to be. But I am. There's something I've been doing that scares me. Some of my thoughts scare me. The planning. The planning. The planning. I haven't done this in years. Or 3 years. When I got past this place then, I never dreamt of coming back here. Yet here I am. And. And there's nothing really to say. Just live with it. I guess that says it all. Just live with it. Until I can get to another side. Dare I say, until I will get to another side. #mentalhealthmatters #mentalhealth #jewishmentalhealth #jews4mentalhealth #jewishgirl #jewish #jewishblogger #suicidalideation #suicidalthoughts #suicidality #borderlinepersonalitydisorder #bpdrecovery #bipolarwarrior #therapistsofinstagram #innerchild #lettertomyself #journaling #journaltherapy #innerchildhealing #innerchildwork #selfdestruction #selfharmrecovery #attachmenttrauma #oding #deathvslife #adultchildrenofalcoholics #acoa #addictionsucks #addictionrecovery #eatingdisorderrecovery

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I just reread that. And it says it all. The hope. The opposite. The everything. Just the everything.

I haven’t been reading most posts on here. I’ve been writing letters as a distraction. They just say hello. If you want a letter email me your address – if you’re less phobic then I who does not give out my address. Not that I care if you’re an axe murderer and cone and shoot me in the night. Do axe murderers use guns?

I’ve ordered a number of gifts for the people I care about. They don’t feel as necessary. Last week, if you asked me, I would gave told you that give me 3 weeks and I’m not here. Not by choice. Never a choice to die. I don’t want to hurt others that way. It’ll hurt so many. R’R said I’m talking like when a kid does something accidentally on purpose. I don’t know how to describe the lack of choice. Of choosing one thing, or choosing not something when it’s inevitable however much you may go against it. Like saying gravity ain’t a force. Choosing not to let gravity pull you to the ground yet however much you hold yourself up you know gravity will win.

Death doesn’t seem as much like gravity today. Like, maybe I’ll be here in 2 weeks.

I called the CMHT to ask when an outpatient assessment is meant to be. The person who answered said they haven’t made an appointment and don’t have any until February anyways. Is that okay? If I don’t get a letter with a date in a month I should call again. I just put down. I couldn’t speak. Speaking is always hard. And what was I meant to say? I’ll be dead in 2 weeks, never mind 4 weeks, so you may as well not bother wasting paper or ink on an appointment letter. I’ll spare you the resources.

There’s a reason I’m going through the CMHT. Asides that any professional I called is either not available, or is fazed by this, or ‘doesn’t do therapy when the therapist will have to work hard’. That’s because most therapists don’t offer crisis management as the main thing. I don’t want traditional therapy. And. If I stop ODing I’m not going to cope. I can’t use therapy. I don’t do talking because it’s not safe. I use writing to process, except I haven’t been writing much as I didn’t want a record of anything. I didn’t want anyone to know I knew I’d die. I don’t want them to hurt even more. Not just would death hurt, but that ‘could they have done anything’. Now that I’m not going to die I can write it. I don’t know.

I spoke to R’R. He got in touch with a charity for me. No clue if they’ll be able to help. He said he cares. I didn’t tell him I don’t believe him for I don’t think it’s fair to him to do that. Tried to get through to my GP to ask him to call the CMHT but haven’t yet gotten through.

Work starts tomorrow. I can’t face it. I’ve been taking less. It’s less of a need. SG did some energy work for me. I texted her when I was freaking out asking if there’s anything she could do. I wonder if that’s the cause of the shift. Of the being okay being here. Of not needing to take as much so constantly. Still buying lots more coz need to be able to if I want to.

And that’s it basically. My world. Which seems to expand and contract and expand and contract. I’ve no clue what of anything is real. I wonder if in April I really was in a better place. Or not at all. And there’s been chantelle during the past few months too. Change that seems meaningless.

Boundaries. I’ve been keeping boundaries much more, and in a much healthier way.

Responsibility. I always took responsibility for others and no responsibility for myself. Then I took responsibility for myself so couldn’t ask others for help because I’m meant to be taking responsibility… I’ve been reaching out. Which isn’t me at all. I was freaking out earlier so called a friend and asked her to talk to me (could never tell her what I was freaking about). And. It helped.

Compassion vs guilt. I’m guilting myself less. Accepting what my reality is more. Like when I’m freaking. Instead of why’m I freaking, being okay that I am. Not adding on the additional guilt (that doesn’t take away the core guilt I live with).

Relationships. In the past few months there are 3 people I’ve really built healthy relationships with. My sister. 2 friends. One of my friends, I’ve gotten to know her children during this time.

I’ve really become okay with what I want, where I stand, re judaism and the culture (I hate the culture. Hate is way too tame to describe the abhorrence, detestation and all it brings up. I wonder if there’s such a thing as religious trauma…). Yet. I’m okay with it. When others bash the culture I can see how their experiences aren’t everyone’s. I can and do see the extremities. And how the culture and the religion of the culture is so different to Judaism. I don’t know what life I’m going to lead with it. If I live long enough to ever get that far. I’m okay with separating it. I love what I see. I love the connection I can’t tune into (because what do I tune into ever?)

My world is a mass of contradictions. That’s another thing I’ve learnt over the past few months of living with destruction. That there is an AND and both can be, and are, true.

Going to end with this image I made. I know this is too long for most to read. Which is why it’s for me. I’m grateful for this space for myself.

E

I’ve an appointment with the CMHT (community mental health team) tomorrow morning – this morning really. My alarm is set for about 6.5 hours from now.

Was messing with burning which I don’t count as burning because it doesn’t scar. Finally stopped. I don’t feel nervous at all. I guess I am in some way. Haven’t done this in ages.

Hoping and praying it goes okay. Trying to out the intention out there to the universe that the best should be.

It’s the morning after yom kippur. It’s kinda an auspicious time.

Going to try and go to sleep.

Really hoping it will be okay…. that something comes from it…