Unbalanced

🌺A place of honesty for my disordered life🌺 Unspecified eating disorder Bipolar disorder II Emotionally unstable personality disorder And everything else I am Human - 24

[unbalancedconfessions]

It’s a heavy weight to be a sister

A sister to alcohol and razor blades

To broken hearts and broken homes

To bad memories and all the cold

But I am.

At midnight the blood is spilt and sutured

And the hours become long ahead of me

Guilt and anger and rising panic that maybe I was wrong

Even though I know I’m right

But no matter how right I am, I cannot make and hold choices

To alcohol and sutures

To every inch of moments passed, that ended here at midnight

Somewhere it has been forgotten that I am a sister, not a mother

I didn’t create these nightmares yet I have to hold the weight of them

And brother you are heavy

Yet you’re not heavy because you’re my brother

And I am not angry because I’m your sister

[unbalancedconfessions]

Me and my little brother grew up in the same household, the same parents. But our experiences and memories are vastly different. And even though we lived under the same roof, we have spent hours upon hours arguing about how our past turned into our present lives. The only thing we can agree on is that it hurt enough that we will never be the same again, that it changed us fundamentally. Our stories are so different from each other, but for the both of us, our stories of pain start and stop with the same two people.

My brother and I are constantly playing the blame game, and the blame we place upon our parents is never harmonious. We argue with each other constantly, trying to convince the other of what was right and what was wrong, what was true and what was lies. It’s a miserable tug of war that neither one of us will ever win. But we both feel like it’s deeply important to make the other understand and agree with the different opinions we have. And it sounds stupid to pick at our wounds until they bleed, over and over again, for something as simple as being right. It’s petty perhaps.

But any person who has had a painful childhood will knowand understand the constant search for answers, the constant need to make sense of it, the constant need to understand why it hurt to be a child.

It’s an endless cycle of digging up old memories and feelings, playing the same stories on loop in our brains, in an attempt to connect the pieces, in an attempt to build a bridge and a walkable path between our past and our present. We choose a memory to twist and turn to see if we can find the right angle and lighting that will make it comprehensible, that will make the many puzzle pieces fit together so the image of ourself becomes clear and certain.

One person can spend their entire life trying to make sense of the past and still be nowhere near an answer before they die.

But for me and my brother we aren’t just one person with one past.

We share our pain, we are two different people trying to reach the same conclusion, the same absolution. We have the same two ghosts haunting us. But even though it’s been 10 years since we began the journey of searching for those damn answers, we still argue about the same things as we did back then.

We hardly even listen to each other when we talk about our parents, too busy with our own opinion and understanding to acknowledge what the other person is saying.

But I try sometimes. Try to put on his glasses and see his side of the story. I try to understand his perspective, try to understand the answers he’s come up with to all the questions.

But it hurts in a very complicated way. Because our story is defined by a big divide. There came a time where our story split in two.

There is our childhood before I moved away and our childhood after I moved away.

And that one year that we don’t share is the one we still argue about.

It’s hard to see the other person’s pain when your own is the one you know for certain.

And when the pain is different, the things you remember clearly are also different.

And I was lucky enough to get a new set of foster parents, a new connection and family to put my faith in. He didn’t, all he has to call his own, is where the pain came from, yet he remains loyal to that pain, because he has nowhere else to go.

I think we want to understand each other, but as much as logic is visible; feelings aren’t. I think we’re both tired to our core with the past, and I think we talk about it together in the hopes of finding peace if we can agree in the end. There’s strength in numbers, strength in being united against what hurts.

Maybe we can have that one day, but there’s a long way to go.

We shared the same house but not the same home.

[unbalancedconfessions]

I’m missing something to take me further and down below

Any kind of pain or pleasure to get me hooked right back on up

It’s gratingly restless being in my skin and brain

A whole lot of nothing and if I could just make a scratch in the surface

Something small to free the chains holding me still

Because I’m not one to sit motionless and be pretty

I’m good with ugly and infections running through me

I’ve done so much moving on that I’ve moved myself away

And I know my reflection but not my shadow that’s fading fast

Where’s the fallout and the agony of cleaning myself back up?

When did I go from wrecking me to painting myself a better picture?

And why is it such a mellow background with a lostness in the center?

I’m not screaming or crying or drinking until I shake and tremor

I’m just balanced, even, sober and clean like I always wanted

But my days blur together without feeling anything of what I’m doing

It’s just a tightrope to dance on while the fall gets lesser and lesser

But maybe I’d like to crash and burn and wrap myself up in pain

Come home to a mess that has a story to tell instead of just the dishes

Could I get just one day of ruining my life to know my own bones

To frame in my DNA with all the misery it owes me that’s gone cold

I’d like to be borrowed out and sold, to the spiders crawling on the wall

Wake up chilled to my core with a nightmare stuck in my throat

Let go of honesty and overflow with all the lies right behind my teeth

All I’m asking for is a small taste of sin, just enough that I can feel heaven under my skin

I’d overindulge and fly high on the chemical burns left aching and raw

And crash hard into the center of my own twisted disgusting world

I’m tired of perfecting a perfection that is endlessly flawed to the core

I’d like to make an earthquaking mess and spill wine all over the floor

Knowing better doesn’t make me better and yet I choke myself on trying

I’ve stifled all the destruction I’m well-versed in and enjoyed the peace

But what’s the point of being whole when I’ve got an entire universe locked up in my soul

Give me a day of bleeding wounds and I promise to stitch me back up pretty again

No one has to know and I’ll keep the disaster as another one of my dirty secrets

[unbalancedconfessions]

I just remembered I have this account today. So hi, if anyone still remembers me or reads this.

It’s been two years since I’ve last posted. And a lot has happened, like so so much.

Reading back on these posts on this account feels weird. I remember all of it, but it’s not who I am anymore. It makes me sad and my stomach ties in knots when I read it.

Back then I was still actively partaking in self-destructive behaviours, and wrecking myself and my life. I was hurting myself in any way I could. It’s not like that anymore.

In June 2021 I made the choice to get treatment for my alcohol abuse. In mid-August this year I had my last appointment with them. It was a bit rough in early September where I relapsed a few times, but as of exactly today, I am a month sober, which also includes no social drinking. I had this idea that I could still drink socially when I entered treatment and I have now made the choice that there will be no drinking at all in my life, and I felt the strongest sense of relief when I finally accepted that it was the only way forward for me.

In early 2021 I began fighting to recover from bulimia, something I had to do on my own because I wasn’t offered any treatment. It was incredibly hard to manage that on my own, and I’m still mad that I wasn’t offered any help. But choosing to recover meant that I had to allow myself any and all food I wanted, so that I wouldn’t be stuck in binge/purge/restrict. That sounds logical and straightforward. But I was struggling with extreme hunger, both physically and mentally. So I gained around 25kg’s in a year. I felt heartbroken from it. I hated myself and I constantly had to buy new clothes in a size up and get rid of old clothes, even something that fit me 1-2 months prior. I ate constantly, and would wake up several times during the night just to eat and then go back to bed. I was burning with so much shame every day. But slowly, very slowly, I started to heal. And now, at 74.4kgs I am a million times happier than I was at 48kgs. I’m chubby and I fucking love it. Like I genuinely think I look good, even though my stomach sticks out quite a lot, I have jiggly arms and thighs, I have small backrolls and get stomach rolls when I sit down. I’m not ashamed of it and I feel so good in my own skin. And now I get to eat whatever I want, whenever I want. I’m no longer afraid to see my family because it means eating. I no longer count every single fucking calorie, I no longer purge until my fingers and nails are blue and I can’t stand up, I no longer feel shame for eating more than the person next to me every now and then, I enjoy soda with sugar in it when I feel like it, and I don’t have any form of extreme hunger anymore. It took 1 1/2 years for that hunger to go away, and I was beginning to think it never would. But it did. And now I have peace in my head.

As of New Years 2022 I have self harmed twice, and it was very minor both times. I don’t have urges to hurt myself anymore, I don’t look at something sharp and immediately think to press it against my skin, 80% of my scars are white now, and I don’t give a single flying fuck if someone looks at them, I honestly find it kind of funny when they do, and even though I am not proud of my scars or think they made me stronger after overcoming it, I don’t hate or mind them either. They’re there, and that’s it. Nothing more to it.

Since 2020 I have been in and out of psych wards a lot, either from depression or mania or states of severe distress. My last admission was 3 1/2 months ago, and that’s the longest I’ve gone without being admitted since 2020. I am beginning to have hope that I will no longer be a “revolving door” patient. I feel more confident in my ability to make the right choices for myself, like taking my medication and being honest about how I’m feeling, before I do something destructive or reckless. My diagnosis of borderline personality disorder was removed in 2021, they couldn’t say if I never actually had that diagnosis or if I managed to recover enough to no longer show symptoms. But they were confident in removing it.

During a psych admission last December, I made friends with a girl (C) who was admitted at the Youth ward, right next to the adult sectioned ward I was in (I was there due to depression, which they treated with a small dose of anti depressants, which then made me manic), and those two wards shared a smoking area. One day in my manic state, I came out there to smoke and C was sitting there smoking too. I had gotten her name from another patient so I greeted her loudly and talked to her as if we already knew each other. This is something she’s told me because I don’t remember it. But we kept talking during that December and when we had both been discharged we agreed to meet up. We did, and now she’s one of my very very best friends. We’ve known each other for less than a year but we’ve grown close very quickly. Through her, I’ve met so many new people, made more friends, and now I can barely keep up with seeing all the friends I have. I am so fucking thankful that we met that December, even though I was manic and she was severely underweight. It’s changed my life for the better.

In may 2022 I moved away from the apartment building my support team works in, and into a new two-bedroom apartment in the same city. Living here is the first time I’ve ever felt at home since I moved out from home at 20 (I’m 26 now) After 5 apartments in 5 1/2 years, I am home and comfortable and settled. I moved mainly so that I could get a cat. I missed having one so so much. On the 2nd of August I got a small orange female kitten, and I named her Charlie, after Charlie Weasley in the Harry Potter books. She’s 5 months old now and she is the best little friend and companion I could’ve ever asked for. She loves cuddles, like ridiculously many cuddle sessions, she’s open to new people in my home instantly without hesitation, she’s chaos unleashed when she’s feeling playful, and she just generally loves without question, and is very patient. She gives as much affection to me as I give to her, and it’s made my life so much more meaningful to have her to take care of and keep healthy.

I have begun seeing my family again. Between 2019 to this summer, I hardly ever saw them, because I was struggling so much mentally and emotionally, that I just couldn’t. I felt like I drifted further and further away from them, felt like I would lose them (they’re actually my foster family since I was 15) because I wasn’t participating and making a point to see them at birthdays and holidays. I’ve feared that for so long now, and I’ve missed them so much, so this summer I decided to make the effort because I didn’t want to lose something so important to me, and look back years from now and regret it. I’ve seen them many times since this summer and it’s made a part of me feel whole again. Especially the kids/teenagers of the family are so precious to me, we have so much fun together and share so many hugs and laughs and closeness, and they are just as happy to see me as I am to see them.

So adding all of the above together, things are better. So much better than I imagined when I wrote those things on this account in 2020. It’s hard for me to understand that through all the trauma and mental illness I’ve endured, I’ve still become a person who loves fiercely, laughs explosively, is shameless and confident, self-aware, extroverted, trusting, and brave enough to live her life, despite emotional abuse, neglect, sexual abuse, suicide of a parent, moving foster family as a teenager, depression, mania, self harm, several eating disorders, suicide attempts, sexual assault, substance abuse, and a burning intense self hatred. I’m somehow still a person who passionately wants her life and goes to bed content, excited for the next day. Looking forward instead of repeating the past.

My recovery still isn’t linear or without setbacks. But I am recovering. It happened slowly and then all at once. It’s possible.

[unbalancedconfessions]

Dear you, you’ve eaten normally. Listen to me when I say that it was okay. I don’t know if this is recovery or another step towards the sickness. Because you’re more aware in both good and bad. I just wish you would be kinder to yourself and eat without thought, influence or guilt. I wish you would be kind to yourself and know that you are enough. Completely through and through. You would feel and be so much better if you let it rest, let it be so that you could have the freedom to just be and breathe instead. You’re losing this battle. In what way I don’t know yet. But it’s happening right in this moment.

How guilty or guilt free does everyone else feel? How free or caught up are they? Are they like me? Worse? Or fortunate? Do they obsess and cry and hurt like I do or are they blissfully sane? No one knows but the person itself. These things are often in hiding. I know I am. Funny thing is, the ones that know really don’t know at single thing. It’s the ice mountain beneath the surface.

I need to feed. It’s exactly like that. Feeding monster. Insatiable. And always at the worst times. I purged twice yesterday which means I’m not able to for at least a day. My gag reflex is broken and faded. My teeth are acidic and painful. My throat is raw and bleeding. My fingers are scarred and bruised. My soul is violently exhausted and torn. So what’s left? I’m bulimia. Bulimia is me. And what are we? Nothing but painful purges and heartless wastelands. I’m empty unless I’m full and when I’m full I’m desperate.

I’m sitting here at this party and all I am is food and body and food and body and food and body and uncontrolled control. I’m sick aren’t I? I’m healthy right? I’m drunk soon and I’m too sober to be here.

[thelongkissgoodnight]

[unbalancedconfessions]

Ever since Sunday I’ve been staying at state facility home where my support team works from. They have an emergency guest room out there and I’ve been allowed to stay until Monday. This was a compromise so that they wouldn’t call my doctor and get me admitted to the psych ward after my overdose last Friday. I never ever want to go back to the hospital and be stuck in there for however long they see fit. So I took the compromise. It was a huge relief the first day and a half to not be alone and have help outside my door 24/7. I could breathe for a minute. But eventually my messed up brain caught up to me and the suicidal thoughts came rushing back. Last night I went for a walk at nighttime and sat down next to a highway. Singing, crying, talking to the sky (imagining it was my mom) and battling both for and against the suicidal thoughts in my mind. Eventually a young couple pulled over, and long story short they tricked me into staying with them until the police showed up and brought me back to the facility.

Today I forced myself sleep for as long as possible to avoid feeling anything or having any awareness. But I’m not good at sleeping and so I spent the entire day preparing for what I knew would happen come evening. The same violent onset of hopelessness and destructive thinking. And when it did I walked around in circles crying my eyes out as I tried to make up my mind. It ended up with me leaving the place to go get drunk. Now I’m sitting by another highway, drunk and ready to just lose.

Champagne - K. Flay

[unbalancedconfessions]

I fucked up again friday morning and spent the day and night and most of today hooked up to machines, first in the ER, then in the ICU and lastly at the heartmedicin unit. I can’t remember most of it, though reading through my files I kinda get why my nose and the back of my throat is so sore, apparantly they pumped my stomach through a nose intubation. It was so surreal. I remember waking up early Friday morning and just having this feeling of finality. Just a numb decision that escalated as I got up (still kind of drunk from the night before) and made my way to the nearest pharmacy where I picked up a prescription for Seroquel that I was supposed to pick up with someone from my daily support team and not on my own, because they store it and hand it out to me on a day to day basis, to avoid me downing them all.

Last month I went with them to pick up a prescription for the very first time since we made the deal that they would be responsible for my meds. And I realised that the employee didn’t ask for any I.D. from either one of us, or any signature. Which meant that in theory I could do this all alone as well.

And so I did. And it went horribly wrong. I got home and I sat down and just popped out every single one of them, still in this dazed and numb state. And when they were all laid out I went into my bathroom and got out this bag of random pills from other previous prescriptions or days where I didn’t take the meds handed out to me. And then I just crammed them all down my throat in one go before even thinking it the slightest bit through. I was okay at first. But then I started to get really sleepy and confused and my heart was beating in an off way. And that’s when I got scared and I called my team who came straight away and dialled 911. The next 8 hours I can’t remember at all. When I woke up I wasn’t sure how many days that had passed because it felt like waking up in a different world than when I feel asleep. In reality it had only been those hours but I was freaking the hell out, and so scared cause I was hooked up with wires running everywhere and a band wrapped around my arm that checked my blood pressure every 15 minutes. And I was so fucking tired, unable to answer questions or figure out what was happening. It was easier waking up this morning and feeling more awake and aware. I ended up “discharging” myself (basically I pulled out the IV drop and disconnected the wires and power walked to elevator) before the Psych staff would come by and evaluate me. Cause I am not going through those doors willingly ever again. It’s hell on earth. So now I’m home. And contemplating wether or not my liver and general health can handle another night of drinking on top of the overdose that apparently takes 5 days to entirely leave my system.

[unbalancedconfessions]

So you know it’s my 24th birthday today and I told myself that I could and would be kind to myself today, that I could eat today. Expect then I did ( In truly gross amounts, like 6000 calories whoops ) and now I legit feel so compelled to hurt myself and I feel like I want to die, like I’m a greedy fucking monster with no value and that I need to be punished.

Sad thing is, this birthday is still way better than the one last year.

[unbalancedconfessions]

I’ve got bruising on my knuckles from the non stop purging now, and it just won’t go away. So now I’m back to having “sweater paws” to hide it, just like when I was 14 and hiding my self harm. Funny how it’s been 10 years and I’m still caught up in such a behaviour to cover up my inability to cope. I certainly didn’t think that I would spend all my teenage years and my early adulthood (basically my entire youth in all its stages) being one big cover up of my ugliness and desperation.

[unbalancedconfessions]

“Recommend using face mask at home”

“Not to prevent infection but to prevent eating all the time”

Yeah. Eating disorders really are messed up enough to find “reason” and motivation within an utmost terrible disease.

[unbalancedconfessions]

Today’s been one of the best days I’ve had in a looooong while. I woke up after a good nights sleep, I felt energised and motivated so I kept busy with a ton of chores the entire day and had good music flowing through my system to back up that happiness I finally felt. I went for two long walks to clear my head and I hardly had any time to think of food or crave food. Honestly I haven’t had such a successful food day in months, it’s wild. I’m content and satisfied even though I’ve “only” consumed 321 calories and burned off 336 from walking. I’m now drinking wine (because it’s me we’re talking about) and just feeling so damn good. And I’m just taking my time enjoying this amazing day.

[trembeling]

[dukeofbookingham-deactivated202]

[unbalancedconfessions]

Saw this one on instagram PRIV and I’ve honestly never related more in my life 👌🏻😂🙃

[unbalancedconfessions]

You know you’re drunk when you’re self-harming and realise half-way in that you’re using the dull side of the blade 🤦🏼‍♀️

[unbalancedconfessions]

I’m about two inches away from losing my balance quite severely. The other night I came very close to being admitted, which I thankfully managed to avoid by being a stubborn uncooperative bitch who refused to answer any questions from the ER doctor. I don’t know why but I just feel so heavy and overwhelmed by being alive. I’m only okay when I’m sleeping and even my dreams tend to get uncomfortable or even sinister. I’m not proud to say that I’ve ended up self harming a couple of times and that I’m still drinking quite often.

My doctor and the psychiatric team won’t allow me to start back up on my medication because between all the drinking, binging/purging and blood-loss they don’t think that my body can handle it. They think I’ll end up with severe side effects and that it will push my body too far. It pisses me off because sure, my body is not doing well, but I won’t get better without medication so just how the hell do they want me to get back on my feet without it? It doesn’t seem very well thought through if you ask me.

Idk, I just need something to shift soon, because I am not coping well at all these days.