Pressure

Recent weeks have been really busy and full of stressful things and a heap of pressure from all directions. I am exhausted and incredibly fed up with everything.

A few weeks ago social services were called in because of something and the school referred us. This was really hard to deal with and my mental and emotional resilience have been put to the test.

The school had originally planned to do early intervention by putting a Team around the family (TAF). This incorporates all those working with me already and providing any additional support to the kids and my hubby where it is needed. Originally the social services weren’t interested, but then my husband did something which meant that the school reported the incident and as such interest was inevitable. Since that time, it feels like I am the one who is under the microscope and I am the one who is at fault.

What my husband did was wrong, but the social workers and saying that given the ‘stress, frustration and pressure’ he is under he is pushed to all his limits. I now feel like I am being blamed for all our problems. That everything is down to my mental health and the fact that I am struggling to get back on my feet.

I am being summoned to do a billion things, make phone calls, travel to see people I have never met, go to places I have never been and manage it all. If I don’t do these things then I am not trying hard enough. If I have a bad day and just want to hide away, I can’t do that, I get told off. Why didn’t you do….??? All the time. I really can’t take it any more. I can’t take all the blame being shifted onto me. How I am being investigated like I have done something wrong. I didn’t fucking ask to be ill. I didn’t suddenly wake up one day and go ‘oh, you know what, all those years of studying and trying to better myself are all a waste of time, I am just going to lie in my bed and do fuck all for the rest of my life, get addicted to codeine and my family’s life a living nightmare.’

NO ONE DOES THAT…..

I would do anything to be at uni now studying for the degree in psychology and counselling. Doing something that I feel passionate about and will one day mean that I can make my past into something that can be used for working with others who have been through tough times.

Instead, everyday is a fucking struggle. Everyday I fight the urges to self mutilate myself, to just curl up in a ball and do nothing. Not bother with the kids, not go out, not do anything. I am fighting so fucking hard and being made to feel like I am not doing enough is getting me down. I don’t need to be patronised either. I don’t need to be told well done for simple tasks. I don’t need to be talked to like I am a moron. I don’t need for a doctor to look at me straight in the eye and tell me first of all that BPD is just a label for depression….FUCK OFF IS IT! Then she questions whether this is really my diagnosis – Well yes it fucking is. The psychiatrist is treating me for it, its written in my medical notes and guess what Bitch, its written on the screen in front of you. I may look 12 sometimes, but I am not and don’t fucking judge me by my appearance. Just because I don’t have food stains all over me, and I don’t stink or whatever doesn’t mean that I don’t have a mental health diagnosis which needs to be taken seriously and respected.

The final straw is then being told that because my BMI is 26.5 I am overweight! CHEERS for that, just make my day why don’t you???!!!!

This was last Friday. Other things are from the previous weeks and also from this week, so far. I feel shit. SUPER FUCKING SHIT. I am so conscious of my weight, I don’t eat often, I don’t want to put weight back on, I refuse to take any medication which will increase my appetite. I won’t take them even if they might help. I can’t put the weight on again. I can’t stand the way that I look. I am less than 10 stone now having been almost 13 stone….in fact I am about 9 and a half stone….the smallest I have been in about a decade. All my clothes are massive on me but I still see a HUGE person in front of the mirror. Not only am I HUGE but I have scars over my stomach from burns. I look hideous. I hate myself and being told that I am overweight just has made me feel more hideous and disgusting.

My weight along with having all the blame put squarely on my shoulders for everything that has gone wrong just makes me feel useless, worthless. I feel empty and pathetic. I don’t really know what I am doing here. I am just dragging people down around me.

I have stopped being on twitter so much recently. In part because I have been told off by my husband and the social workers for the amount of time I have spent on there. I also feel that I have become to dependent on it. I have opened myself up so much and whilst I know that there are people who are sincere and do care I need to hide myself away more. I really have nothing to give to anyone, I don’t want people to feel that all I ever am is negative and that I just whine all the time. I can feel myself going back into my shell.

I have never felt more alone than I do right now. I don’t know how to explain it, I don’t know why this is. The tears just well up over and over again and the desire to just disappear is more tempting than ever.

This is just a horrible place to be and I don’t know how to make it better. I am doing everything I am meant to be doing, I am working with everyone I am supposed to be and I am trying my best to get better. But it feels like it’s not enough, it feels like I am failing at everything. Being told off all the time because I didn’t do something perfectly, or was late or whatever just knocks me. I am trying so hard….so fucking hard.

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