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

Thinking

Sometimes I wonder what it's like to not be constantly thinking. Every thought I have branches off into several more, which then branch off into even more thoughts, and sometimes it's exhausting. I can't stop it though. I can't stop thinking, well, overthinking. Often I'll be so immersed in my own mind that I won't even be able to coherently express myself and end up rambling. Kind of like what I'm doing now. I don't know.

I guess this picture sums it up pretty well.

I don't know.

At the same time though, I do know.

But the more I know, the more I don't know.

To the point where I know what I don't know and I don't know what I do know.

That makes no sense.

Paradoxical hey?

Where I've been

I've wanted to do this for a long time now, but I'd never felt comfortable nor did I even know how to go about it. I still don't know honestly, but that doesn't matter. I've recently realised I write best when I'm just in the moment typing whatever comes to my head; which by the way is really hard for me! I'll explain why later. So here it is, my story.

I want to start off by saying I have absolutely no malicious intent in writing this, and thus will not be mentioning any names. I do not wish any harm upon those whose actions have affected me the way they did so please respect my wishes and do not spread negativity.

Right. Okay. Where to begin.. I'm sick. Very sick. Not the physical kind, but sometimes I feel like the living nightmare I wake up to everyday is worse. There are days I'll be motivated to fight, then there are instances where I'll take out all the pent up hurt and anger on my own body in an attempt to end my life. I don't like to present myself this way though, so nobody really knows except my closer friends. For those of you who've played DDLC, I'm similar to Sayori in the way I act around others, my family life is sort of like Natsuki's, and my self harm and suicide attempts are as morbid and graphic as Yuri's. I'm not going to spoil the actual game for anybody who hasn't played because it's brilliant.     

Before any of you decide to suddenly become armchair psychologists and try to diagnose me, here are my official diagnoses:

My first official diagnosis was completely accidental. It was some time during my HSC assessments, I was having a pretty rough time and went to my GP to try and get an exemption from doing an exam. As I listed my 'problems', I realised I wasn't lying at all. She diagnosed me with depression and referred me to a psychologist who I saw on a weekly basis throughout the remainder of high school.

After bumping into a few people from high school these past few years, I realised nobody really knew much about me. I probably came across as snobby, lazy, the 'I'm too good for this place and have zero fucks to give about my future' type. I wasn't even at school half the time. From memory I think my final year report noted I had 63 unexplained absences.. 

Anyway I'm rambling sorry! My next diagnoses were anorexia, bulimia, and anxiety. I'll keep the rest of this short or I'll be here all day. I have to go and buy a desk later! I chose a psychologist with a PhD in some anorexia research and we also had weekly sessions for a few months. When she went on holiday during Christmas break she sort of palmed me off to my current therapist, a psychiatrist specialising in psychodynamic therapy. I was then also diagnosed with ADHD and BPD. Cuuuuuuuuue automatic judgement! Just kidding. Not really. BPD is one of the most stigmatised mental disorders because of its nature and terrible depiction in the media. 

I think that's it, for now at least. I have a potential sixth diagnosis coming my way but I'd rather not talk about that one since I've learnt some things are better left unsaid.

2017 was one of the worst years of my life. I've now got an extensive medical history, with a total of five suicide attempts and countless self harm incidents. So I guess now I should go backwards and sort of explain how I got here. Again, no ill intent so please be kind.

When I was born, my mother was 38 and my father was 53. Their history is pretty complicated and it's not really my place to share. My brother was born two years later, and we were pretty close as kids. I don't remember much of my early childhood, partly because children aren't able to form solid memories until about four to five years of age, and partly because I've repressed a lot of it. I guess it's not uncommon for children, especially in Asian families, to be abused. My abuse went just a little too far though. My brother and I both coped with our inadequate childhoods in different ways. I developed signs of BPD, and was eventually conditioned into believing I was completely worthless. I don't think that was my mother's intent, but that's the way it turned out.

In 2005 my father had an operation to remove a benign brain tumour, and I think that was when things started changing. Prior to his surgery, he worked six days a week and I barely saw him. I never really got a chance to bond with him because of his work ethic and his older age. To this day he's more of a stranger to me than a father.. I think during this time my mother was either back at university, or working as a nurse. I can't remember. My memories are still mostly repressed. She became harsher, and at one point the Department of Community Services along with the local court filed an AVO against her on behalf of my brother and me. My dad was no hero though, he let it all happen. My psychiatrist encouraged me to retrieve my file from DOCS, which I've still yet to do. I did call them to request my information, and one thing they asked me was whether or not I had ever been removed from my home. It never occurred to me that if my brother, father, and I had been more honest in our statements, I would probably have foster parents and not be where I am now. I wonder how that would've turned out.. 

After the AVO was enforced, my parents came up with other ways to 'discipline' us. Knowing we were protected by the law, my brother and I started slacking off. I was supposedly the 'golden child' so I copped most of the expectation bullshit from my mother. She'd often tell me that my brother had no future and I was the one with the beauty, brains, potential to succeed. She pushed me towards things I had no interest in. When I was young she'd put me in high heels. Children aren't supposed to wear heels?! She once even made me a girdle type thing to wear under my dresses so my stomach would appear flatter. After I did the selective schools test, she faxed my acceptance letter to Sydney Girls High without me even knowing. I never wanted to go to that school. Even as a child I knew I wouldn't enjoy it there. She wanted to live vicariously through me, and I was never able to meet her standards.

In year seven I relied mostly on my natural talent to excel in school. Year eight wasn't too bad either. My grades slowly started dropping in the more senior years. I could never study! In class I'd never concentrate. I was that one kid who masked my inability to keep up with a laid back and funny facade. My psychiatrist thinks it's pretty cruel how nobody picked up on my ADHD, with nearly all my reports from all my teachers across all faculties stating my 'potential to succeed if only I'd concentrate and focus more'. A few posts down I go into more detail about how one teacher in particular triggered the downward spiral in my education that lasted all the way until I graduated.

Now this is the part where things start to get a bit heavier, so please be advised and don't read on if you are easily triggered. 

In year ten, I wasn't feeling the best and decided to skip my French speaking test. I blame this on my perfectionism and desire to be acknowledged by my mother. My teacher phoned my mother, who lashed out at me when I got home and kicked me out of the house. Around this time I'd made a new friend online who seemed nice, and after hearing about my situation he offered me 'shelter' at his house. That night I experienced my first sexual assault. I didn't think much of it at the time, I mean I was used to people taking advantage of me because I grew up not really having a voice. 

Towards the end of year eleven, I started dating my first proper boyfriend. We were fine for about a year, until one day when he publicly humiliated me by throwing me to the ground in the busy city streets during lunch time. A lady helped me back up as he ran away. She offered to call the police but I said no. I was too concerned about him and what he might do next, so I ran after him. I remember finding him in a stairwell of a building nearby. His glasses were on the floor, I think he had thrown them because the lenses had fallen out. I picked them up, popped the lenses back in, and walked up to talk to him. He was still angry, and proceeded to smash my head to the concrete ground and strangle me. I thought I was going to die.

We continued to date for another year and a half before I was convinced by a staff member at the university I was studying at that I deserved better. Little did I know, he had ulterior motives in what seemed like genuine caring advice. Side note - I worked in the discipline I majored in due to my high marks and good relationship with my tutors so it wasn't like I was telling my life story to a random person. He was sort of a colleague at this point I guess. I broke up with my boyfriend, and not too long after, I was sort of taken advantage of yet again. I'd rather not go too much into what happened with the academic staff member in case this becomes more than it should be. I'm only mentioning this part of my life because it significantly affected my ability to complete my degree and I eventually withdrew from the course. The event also sparked the beginning of my love/hate relationship with food. I became so unhealthily skinny and malnourished I lost my ability to function and think properly. My first wakeup call was when I fainted and fell down an entire flight of stairs, landing me in hospital. Eventually I became so far gone that I was no longer able to work, thus ceasing my employment as a flight attendant. 

Anorexia turned into bulimia, bulimia turned into binge eating disorder, and the cycle started all over again. During this time, I got into yet another abusive relationship. This time it was more emotional abuse and manipulation. He did bruise me once but that doesn't count I guess. I started to hate myself more and more, and towards the end of 2016 I finally hit breaking point. What had previously been superficial cuts to my skin turned into huge gashes that still remain as keloid scars. The relationship took a heavy toll on my mental wellbeing so I broke it off for good. The self harm didn't stop though, I started searching for new forms of escapism, from drugs to impulse holidays overseas. I overdosed on a concoction of substances during a short trip to Melbourne where I was (what a surprise) sexually assaulted again. I seemed to constantly get myself into the same dangerous situations over and over again, and I've learnt from therapy that it all goes back to my childhood and my compulsion to repeat traumatic events over and over again because I guess I'm used to it.

Anyway what year are we even in now? Ah yes, 2017. The worst year of my life to date. The year I attempted suicide five times. The year I was sectioned under the mental health act and admitted to psychiatric confinement. The year a family member nearly killed me. The year I decided to unofficially cut all ties with my abusive family. The year I barely made it through until the end. To be honest I didn't give a fuck about the new year, I was sleeping while everyone else was celebrating the start of 2018 haha. I FUCKING MADE IT THOUGH. I AM STILL HERE. I'm still very, very sick, and what I've written is just the tip of the iceberg. Rest assured though, I haven't completely lost hope! I'm going to make it.

I live alone now, so things are slightly better. For those of you planning to move out completely on your own, maybe don't do it if your home situation isn't so bad. It's not as fun as it seems and bills are a nightmare! I'm grateful for being able to physically get away from a few of my problems though. On top of that, I'm going back to university. I don't have an undergraduate degree so I can't go straight into Medicine, I'm a first year student yet again, but I'm not going to be bitter about it anymore and I'm finally moving on. I got into Medical Science bitches!!!!! 2018 is going to be my year. To anyone still reading this, 2018 is going to be your year too. We're all going to make it! 

I hope everybody is well, and this time I'm going to keep my blog updated on my progress, so check back soon! ^-^

"You know you can't be a pilot with this diagnosis right?"

     "Yeah, I know"

"Well it's not like you'd be able to do it anyway with everything else wrong with you"

     "Yeah.... Maybe in another life"

"Yep. Maybe in another life"


仕方ない

The parts of me the eyes can't see

They're buried underneath

Picking off the petals

I'll let you if you're gentle

Tokyo & Hong Kong