Ups and downs

smoke, boy, and cigarette image

Some things are going really well at the moment. I downloaded an app called ‘Clean Time Counter’ and now know that I haven’t purged in almost 95 hours, which is amazing, and I hope that the app will continue to motivate me to stay strong because I don’t want to have to face the bitter failure, disappointment and embarrassment I will bring upon myself if I have to set the time back again.
So far, it has worked. The pressure is constantly there because nothing else can make me as relaxed and relieved as binging and purging can, but I’m trying my hardest.

Unfortunately, that makes my mood swings worse.
They’ve become a bigger issue over the last few months again and now they’re even worse, and because I can’t talk about them to my family, they assume I’m a moody bitch even though that’s just the only way I can express my moods when I can’t hide them.
But another positive thing is that I haven’t had a panic attack in at least a week, and I’m focusing more on the things that make me happy again. I write stories and play my guitar every day again after I let both these things slip for a very long time, and doing it again makes me feel fulfilled, happy and like I’m good at something.

Furthermore, that also causes my duties to be less important, and I avoid studying as much as possible and often don’t even bother to open the college website to get back to my works for days. And the bigger the gaps between the study sessions become, the more the thought of doing them scares me. When I do things I don’t like very often, they become a part of my daily life I just have to get done (like showering which I despise because of my naked body), but when I avoid them, they fill me with fear again because fears of failures somehow manage to get stronger again in that case.

And if there is something I can’t deal with, then it’s failure. When I’m not capable of fulfilling the expectations I’m holding for myself, the little bit of self-worth I have vanishes completely and is substituted by doubts and hatred.
To keep myself from falling apart, I constantly listen to music, but that’s pretty much the only thing that always holds me together when getting through with my chores.
Of course my son also makes me happy, but because I’m a young single mom, people constantly doubt and criticize me (especially my own mom which really bothers me), and when it’s about my own child, that really upsets me, so being anywhere around other people that might watch me somehow constantly puts some sort of pressure on me.
And it’s rather difficult for me to be genuinely happy when I feel stressed and under so much pressure.

My counselor says I’m making progress and I believe that as well when I look at how insightful, honest, strong and courageous I am, but my mental stability is fragile and can sometimes be wrecked by a triggering advert when I’m about to eat. Not that I’d let people notice, but I’m a mess in my head and often feel overchallenged because of that.
To keep myself up, I focus on my future plans and dreams, positive activities and goals in my life, but I can’t help but suffer from inner breakdowns from time to time causing me to want to cry, rip my lungs out or just stay numb forever.
It’s frustrating how uncertain everything is, and even worse is my still very twisted relationship with both my body and food, and we don’t seem to be able to get along.

It’s all a big chaos inside of me despite looking perfectly fine to those outside of it, and I just want it to be as okay as it seems. I just want to be okay. I just wish it were as easy as talking about it.

If someone offered me a flight to get out and never even come back once, I’d catch it without thinking. This place is hell, and I can’t wait to get everything on my list done and say goodbye, which sadly will still take quite a while. The way everyone judges me and puts me down drives me crazy, but what really bothers me isn’t what they see- I learned not to care about that a long time ago. What wrecks me are the thoughts I create myself.

couple, ian somerhalder, and tumblr image

Where are you?
And I’m so sorry.
I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight.
I need somebody and always
This sick strange darkness
Comes creeping on so haunting every time.

Living at home with mental disorders

I spontaneously decided to write this because the topic this is about (it’s obviously named in the title) represents a huge daily struggle for me.
My family has known about the severity of my disorders since my first suicide attempt got me into a psychiatric hospital in 2012, but despite all the family therapy sessions, long conversations and complicated explanations, they have always failed to understand them.
While my father always pretends it’s not nearly as bad as I might think and my sister simply ignores the entire issue, my mom is the only one I have been trying to actually talk to about it on a regular basis, but it always leaves me feeling like I just held a speech for a stone wall. She either doesn’t get it or doesn’t want to. Which one of them it is I can’t tell because I don’t remember what it was like without the sicknesses, but it definitely makes living together very difficult this or the other way.
Whenever I try to express that certain things trigger me, it makes her first confused, then angry and then she tells me that she’s not a therapist (which I know and I never expected her to act like one), and what’s even worse is that she somehow is always immediately offended.
All I ever do is mention what behaviors of hers are a problem for me, and I always emphasize that I certainly don’t mean to blame her for anything when saying that, but she immediately thinks that.
Like, literally every time, and I’ve been trying that every few weeks or months for several years now. What happened a couple days ago was another perfect example: I told her that it badly triggers me when she always puts things before food and makes eating something not important enough to spend her time doing without saying that it means she is to blame for any of my disordered behaviors, and she was super mad at me and refused to talk to me any further.
And during the next few meals, she gave me bitchy comments about how she was eating now and that she could obviously not have an eating disorder or support one because of that which I clearly never indicated either, and that made everything worse all over again. I keep telling her that all I want is try to make her understand what’s going on with me so we can live together peacefully, but it just doesn’t work out.
I love both my mom and sister to bits, but living here is hell. Firstly, the way they both eat is a daily trigger because my mom often simply doesn’t eat half the day because there are more important things in her opinion, and my sister is too lazy to eat or not hungry enough for the same amounts of time, and that makes learning to eat normally hella difficult.
Stating that, I am NOT stating that this means they are to blame for my relapses or that they have eating disorders. I know that both of these things aren’t AND have never been the case. But it makes things hard for me and I tell them about it because it would help me if they respected that. But nope.
So many things here are reasons to relapse: The basement that’s always filled with huge amounts of supplies that always include my favorite foods for my bulimic sessions, their eating habits, how perfect my sister, her body and her life is and that I never had that, how she is appreciated and gets everything so much easier and faster than I ever did, how my worries are always ridiculed or invalidated because I’m supposedly exaggerating, how I ‘don’t have the time to be sick’ or how I’m always expected to function.
And yes, there’s more.
Whenever I dare to say that I’m better, it’s just natural to expect that I’ve suddenly fully recovered, whenever I’m with my son, it’s just absolutely impossible to be depressed (I love my baby more than anything, but that DOES NOT make serious illnesses magically disappear), that talking or writing about things being hard for me (like I do it right now) means that I’m somehow obsessing over them or getting all worked up… There is just so much.
And no, I don’t blame my family. I love them and none of this is their fault. I just wish they’d at least try to understand me so they can actually listen to me and try to respect my wishes and concerns. I wish they’d realize that my bitchy attitude is an expression of my extreme mood swings, and that being better doesn’t mean being healthy.
I am more than a teenage girl with a child, and I wish they saw more than that too. But I guess they won’t and that’s one of many reasons why I need to leave.
I definitely want to keep seeing them at least a few times a week, but I need to get out of this house. Of course, wanting to finally have my own place and be all grown up, independent and self-determining is an extremely important factor, but to be honest, the most important reason is that I will never be able to recover here.
It’s not my family’s fault, but it’s true even though I could never tell them about them because they wouldn’t get it.
The food stocks, the misunderstandings, fights, lies and my perfect sister who has all of her wishes granted every single day makes it absolutely impossible for me to truly end a life with diseases.
I am certainly making progress here, but I know that I’ll never get further than that. But because my mom just lost her job and I financially depend on her because I haven’t finished school yet and can’t work additionally because of my son, I’m really, really scared that moving out won’t be possible this summer like we actually planned and I’m stuck here. Ah hell. I feel so alone, but there is nobody I want to be with.
Rant over. Thank you for your attention.

HULU tv fox sigh sleepy hollow

This year can ACTUALLY be better

When I was a child, I loved Christmas. Loved the excitement, the preparations, decorations, smells, tastes, baked goods, dishes, wishes, books, movies, and, of course, the gifts that really brought the Christmas spirit into my heart. Over the years, I unfortunately slowly began to realize that Christmas actually isn’t nearly as awesome as we always expect it to be every year.
Countless songs and movies and weeks of stress all for an event that could never reach my high expectations seemed a little odd, and it disappointed me even more that the magnificent holiday harmony never really made it into our house since everyone annually tried their best to be nice, but ended up being just as bitchy and up for fights as they did the other eleven months of the year. The older I grew, the more my love for the legendary event faded until I recently decided I actually hate it.
So much money, horrible music, stupid stories, cheesy decor and films, complicated meals and days filled with nothing but stress all for the desperate attempt to pretend to be a happy perfect family and be kind to each other? We need one day we spend hugging our families, give each other presents and donate to charity and then we don’t give a damn for the rest of the year? Why? Why make such a huge deal out of that one day that’s never as great as they portray it on TV?
Honestly, I just find the whole thing really annoying today. I’m not even Christian and even if I were, the whole Christmas thing doesn’t have much to do with Christianity anyways considering it’s all about the food and wrapped new things, and nobody really cares about Jesus who was born in summer.

This year, I tried my best to get my family the perfect things, make a nice vegan meal my eating disorder could somehow forgive me for, look and act festive, smile, laugh, pretend to love everything and everyone and not talk about politics, but Christmas Eve ended up being the usual disaster anyways despite my desperate attempts and not screwing anything up.
My father spent the afternoon at our place which put me under such enormous pressure and made me feel so awful that I actually cried and purged in the shower and covered it up with some makeup afterwards to not ruin the mood, but when he decided to stay for Christmas dinner, I could no longer take it and kindly expressed that I’d prefer him to (finally) go- which ended up making me look like a mean bitch and him leaving angry and offended.

We (my mom, sister and baby) actually had a great time together unwrapping gifts for each other afterwards (I got some amazing clothes and books and seemed to have bought the perfect items for my folks), but my awfully touchy teenage sister freaked afterwards when we wanted to do the annual Christmas photos which led to an intense fight between the two of them with me right in the middle.
And as usual, I was the one to blame in the end because that’s just how things work in our family. Me being the only one who actively tried to create some harmony then made the others watch a crappy Christmas family movie which led to another fight because my wonderful little sister couldn’t even pay attention for five minutes without taking out her phone to text her friends who obviously didn’t care a lot about their own families either.

I mean, let’s be honest: I could have perfectly lived without Christmas in the first place. If they had listened to me just once, we wouldn’t have celebrated this shit. But because they insisted to be a part of the unnecessary social convention, I at least wanted to do it the right way and not make it the reason for another argument. I at least wanted it to be nice and peaceful.
But we rarely get what we want, so the day ended the way it already did the last few years: With everyone dissatisfied and angry.

The following day was a little better because it was a harmonic one without arguments because everyone was somehow suddenly able to pull themselves together, but what kind of sucked was the fact that we had lunch with my grandma at a restaurant where they pretty much only served meat which caused two problems: 1) My grandma is an extremely religous racist & 2) I’m vegan.
But: I made it through. I felt quite horrible the whole day, but I made it and there was no yelling or crying coming from anyone, so it was definitely better than the previous day.

What I’m telling you now might sound a little rude towards my family, but the only time I really got to enjoy myself during the holidays was when my best friend stayed for the night shortly after Christmas and she and I binge watched Stranger Things the whole night on the couch with red wine. So I guess that was my kind of Christmas. Nothing ‘christmassy’ involved, but I got what Christmas is (or should actually be) about: Happiness, peace, relaxation, harmony and fun with a loved one.
Let’s be positive, right?
If you can’t have a nice Christmas, you can at least have nice holidays afterwards.

Also, my only really close male friend (I usually can’t have friendships with guys without starting a relationship with them) came over for a night and I introduced him to the fabulous world of American Horror Story which was awesome.
Besides, we don’t get to see each other often, so I had missed spending some quality time with him.

And before I had the chance to pause for a moment and recapitulate the year that had passed so much faster than I had expected it to, New Year’s Eve had already arrived and I didn’t have anyone to watch my baby, so I stayed at home.
The thought of that was really depressing at first because it is somehow socially expected from people until the age of thirty to celebrate that day and make it a big party with friends or at a club, but the way the night turned out to be surprised me in the best imaginable way.
I can now honestly say that this was the best New Year’s Eve I’ve had in years. Isn’t that crazy?
I didn’t expect that AT ALL.
While I had spent the previous New Year’s Eve half asleep because my baby had only been a month old and therefore extremely exhausting and tiring, and the others before that partying even though I hate going out with people (I did it just to not be the outsider) and coming home done with my life, planning my suicide and cutting or purging, I really didn’t give a damn about what anyone would think about my way to celebrate this year and didn’t hold any expectations either, and maybe that’s why it turned out to be such a great night.
There is absolutely nothing special, party-like or cool about watching Netflix for the whole night while getting drunk and listening to Mötley Crüe, but who cares?
I don’t! And guess what? I love these things, so I enjoyed the night!
I mean, yeah, I had to actually lock the basement and put away everything that might trigger my eating disorder or depression which sounds ridiculous and made me feel so embarassed that I didn’t tell anyone except my counselor (I mean, I know that it’s because of my mental disorders, but I still feel really weak and like I have a huge lack of self-discipline thinking about it), BUT I MADE IT.
Without a breakdown, without binging, without purging or anything else related to my diseases.

I made it.
I started 2017 happy- for the first time in almost a decade.
I can now say that these holidays didn’t go as planned AT ALL, but they ended way better than I thought they would and I can proudly say that the new year has actually been good so far- for the first time in all these years.
I do struggle every single day (right now, I’m keeping my shit together to not purge the piece of vegan chocolate cake I ate because it wasn’t sugar free and sugar is one of my ‘forbidden’ foods) and it certainly isn’t easy and makes me doubt myself and feel depressed all the time, but I’m trying.
I’m a work in progress. And that’s okay.

Even though I so far haven’t binged or purged this year, I know that I will relapse again at some point. I’ve attempted recovery enough times to know how hard it is and how often failure is a part of it. It’s not a choice you make just once.
But this time, I’m trying anyways. I’m not giving up on myself just because things are hard because I’m now willing to waste another year I could invest to recover to feed my sicknesses instead.
Every day is a fight, but it’s worth it because I want to live the life I deserve with my son and my goals and dreams.
And I know that I can’t have any of it if I decide to give in to my twisted thoughts. Let’s be honest: This year will be tough. I’ll hate myself and my body, I’ll fall, I’ll feel bad, I’ll relapse.
But I’ll get back on my feet somehow because I don’t want to throw away everything I have and can have just because of the lies these voices are telling me about how worthless and weak I am, because I’m not.
This year won’t end with me being healthy and happy.
But it will end with me being healthier and happier than ever before.
Recovery takes a lot longer than 365 days, but 365 days are a good start.
It’ll be worth it.
For my family.
For my son.
And for myself.
I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my life, but I need to do this in order to get my life back. This time, my resolutions will become reality.

I swear I don’t belong here
But I believe
Don’t tell me this all comes from fear
I promise I’ll be different
There’s nothing left
I’m on my knees surrendering
This can’t be

I didn’t know I lost it all
Didn’t know I’d break and fall
This isn’t who I’m meant to be
There’s so much here that I found missing

Saviour- a song that’s probably saved my life a dozen times since 2012

I never meant to be the one
Who kept you from the dark
But now I know my wounds are sewn
Because of who you are
I will take this burden on
And become the holy one
But remember I am human
And I’m bound to sing this song

So hear my voice remind you not to bleed
I’m here,

Saviour will be there
When you are feeling alone, oh
A saviour for all that you do
So you live freely without their harm

So here I write my lullaby
To all the lonely ones
Remember as you learn to try
To be the one you love
So I can take this pen
And teach you how to live
What is left unsaid
The greatest gift I give

So hear my voice remind you not to bleed
I’m here,

Saviour will be there
When you are feeling alone, oh
A saviour for all that you do
So you live freely without their harm

When I hear your cries
Praying for light
I will be there

When I hear your cries
Praying for life
I will be there

I will fight
I will always be there

Beautiful Pain

Our life was a shooting star
That burned out way too fast
And all the memories
Of a dream that’s built to last
Don’t wanna wait for my next panic attack
Don’t wanna wait for my next crash

It’s a beautiful pain
When I remember the good times
When I remember the gone
It’s a beautiful pain
When I let go of the heartache
When I let go of your heart

All the times that I keep holding onto
Even though you’re gone
And the nights that I keep holding back the tears
I hope you found what you’re looking for

I pray that you’re happy now
You’re never looking back
Rest with the angels now
Heaven’s gate you left

Don’t wanna wait cause you’re never coming back
Don’t wanna wait for the last dance

It’s a beautiful pain
When I remember the good times
When I remember the gone
It’s a beautiful pain
When I let go of the heartache
When I let go of your heart

All the times that I keep holding onto
Even though you’re gone
And the nights that I keep holding back the tears
I hope you found what you’re looking for

– original lyrics by Andy Biersack

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On the edge

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m always one step from crumbling and it only takes one tiny thing to push me that last bit off the edge. One moment I’m fine, the next one I’m losing my mind. And the worst part is that nobody knows or will know about it. I’m tired of always needing to be fine, but I can’t change anything about it. I love my son more than words could describe it, but there are certain awful things about motherhood nobody ever tells you about and the worst one is that you always need to function. And when I say always, I mean it. When you have a baby, you can’t even take a minute off because as soon as you sit down, there’s the possibility that your child might start crying. You always need to be in control, calm, smiling, careful. Everyone believes I’m doing great, and on the outside, I really am, taking care of everything, getting all of my work done, never forgetting anything- but on the inside, things are different.

anxiety, black and white, and cigarettes image

I’m constantly torn apart between happiness and desperation- literally. It’s like there are those two sides in my head and I never know which one will win because while one tells me how great I’m doing and sees everything positive, the other one finds a thousand reasons to break down the next second. My mood is really fragile and even though I manage to cover it up with my typical slightly bitchy attitude mixed with casual kindness (yes, it works) and keeping myself busy all day, I’m praying in my head to be able to keep my goddamn shit together and not lose it again. It’s incredibly exhausting and making me feel really anxious. There’s nothing I can do about it, though. I need to figure out a way a deal with it despite how much it pisses me off on a regular basis. Sometimes I think I’ve got a pro’s and con’s list in my head that refreshes every minute to keep me up to date. Right now it looks like this:

+ I: managed an entire week with my son and my dogs in the house without my mom or sis around really well; work out every morning; am an awesome mom to my son; will put him in daycare the upcoming week to start studying again; am really strong and apparently not heartbroken and make my way through everything without falling apart; am holding on and have great plans for my future

– I: am fragile; am having flashbacks from the past; had to cancel my vacation because I couldn’t take it; still need to face the walking problem named my ex because he’s my son’s dad and I can’t just cut him out of my life like I’d love to; still suffer from relapses; don’t eat like normal people do anymore again; can’t talk to anyone about everything; usually don’t know what’s going on with me and whether I’ll go to bed happy or crying tonight; struggle with my self-identify* and body image very hard again

*About the self-identity-problem: Well, when my son was born a little more than nine months ago, I decided to start to dress like a mom (you know, the whole thing with blue jeans, decent jewelry, heels and blouses like classy moms do it) and strongly distanced myself from the stuff I used to like (smoking, drinking, partying, concerts) and instead act like a role model. Also, I stopped admitting when I feel bad because that’s something parents unfortunately are not supposed to do. Parents need to function and not feel, unfortunately. I still listen to the same kind of music with my earbuds and still like the same things, but I don’t really show it anymore. I only wear my band shirts and batman stuff when I’m home or walking my dogs, wear normal makeup and have a bright room with blue and photos and stuff now.

And I’m not sure if that was the right choice. Sure, if I made the choice again, I’d still never actually smoke or drink as a mom during the day and still only attend parties or concerts on special occasions with a babysitter at home, but the whole appearance thing seems to not be a smart thing now that I live with it. To be honest, wearing that stuff makes me feel really uncomfortable. Sure, it’s all really pretty (I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise), but it’s not me, you know? It doesn’t feel right.

afraid, black and white, and Darkness image

Okay, so I feel like I kind of lost my train of thought. Where I was actually going is that I’m sure if this is who I really am and want to be anymore. Do I want to be this perfect inspirational ideal showpiece teen mom? Yes, I want to keep being respected and admired for how well I’m handling everything because I am, but do I want to be this perfect fake? Do I want to pretend that I’m always fine and never struggling, always wearing that smile and confidence I’ve never truly had? Do I want to wear nude lipstick and red blouses and hide my studded leather jackets? Do I want to keep all of my feelings and fears to myself and my counselor?

I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here anymore. I don’t feel real anymore, you know? It’s like I’m fine and horrible at the exact same time, all the time.

Who the hell is this person in the mirror? When did I become her? Is this how it’s supposed to be? Am I happy this way? Because, honestly, I don’t know. I don’t even know if this is a dream or a nightmare. I don’t fucking know.

black and white, depressed, and depressing image

Black Ink Revenge

I wanted this
I wanted you
I wanted it to last
But you fell through

I don’t want to know you anymore
The color of your lips red
And I swear I never wear lipstick
No, my god, I drank too much
Laughing while I’m crying
Don’t you let them know you’re dying
Dying to break out, and dying to get, get out
From the windows of the upstairs
Click my heels, but I am stuck here

I’m pledging this vow

This is the last time
This is the last fight
Sunsets to sunrise
Morning to midnight
And this is my goodbye
So blow out the candle
The bottle is dry
And these pages learn to think
You’re not even worth my black ink revenge

I guarantee that you’ll miss me

I can’t stomach this
I think I’m going to be sick
My heart’s made of wick and you put the fire out of it
With the kerosene; chalked my feet
She smiled at me and closed the door, but not to sleep

This isn’t making any sense
I was yours the night before this
And the smell of your sheets is the remnants of it

This is the last time
This is the last fight
Sunsets to sunrise
Morning to midnight
And this is my goodbye
So blow out the candle
The bottle is dry
And these pages learn to think
You’re not even worth my black ink revenge

I guarantee that you’ll miss me

So I’m writing you out of my dreams
And you’ll miss me, I swear, when I leave
Yeah, I’m writing you out
And I want back the photos that I said you could keep

And you miscomprehend and I scorn you to death
My words are as strong as my last gasp for breath
Leave nothing behind
Not a trace or a crumb
And no clues to unlock how painful this was
So I’m writing you out of my dreams
And you’ll miss me, I swear, when I leave

This is the last time
This is the last fight
Sunsets to sunrise
Morning to midnight
And this is my goodbye
So blow out the candle
The bottle is dry
And these pages learn to think
You’re not even worth my

Black ink revenge

– original lyrics written by Juliet Simms Biersack

The demons won’t drown, but neither will I.

Things are tough again and I’m struggling really hard to make it through the days. Sometimes I think about letting myself sink into it again because I know that giving in to the disorders would be so much easier, but I can’t do that. There was a time in my life when I didn’t have anything left to lose and when it didn’t seem to matter anymore whether I’d keep going or just give up on everything, but things have changed and now I have a lot to lose and can’t risk it. I’ve fought for way too long to just surrender now and make everything I’ve been through completely useless, and I have my son I love so much that I’m willing to sacrifice everything to make sure he grows up with a mother who’s always there for him, no matter what happens. Besides, even though my future still scares the shit out of me, today I believe that there’s at least a chance of making my dreams come true even though they’re only dreams so far. I’ve seen how much I can do when I stay strong. There is so much more to accomplish in this life. I don’t want mental illnesses to take away my possibilities of going to college, graduating, getting a great job and building a life for me and my son. This shit in my head isn’t worth sacrificing everything for. Everything I’ve been through is getting me closer to where I want to be. Who I want to be.


Right now, I’m a total mess. My mood constantly goes up and down, I don’t think I’ve hated my body this much in years, eating is torture as well as the mirror in the bathroom, I keep losing my shit and my hope, get depressed and angry and doubt and criticize myself more than anyone I know. Right now, I feel awful, but there’s a difference between feeling awful now and before having a kid: Now I keep going regardless. I keep fighting. That’s the difference.


I’ve now learned that you can’t choose how you feel when suffering from depression, but how you handle the feelings: You can either let them take over and pull you down or you can force yourself to move on even though they make you feel like there’s nothing left to do that for. It doesn’t matter how often we fall. I feel like falling all the time. But I’m getting back up.

No, I can’t handle all of it. I can’t put on a bikini and it’s pathetic that I’m sitting in our apartment when there’s a great pool in the garden where my family spends their entire vacation without me. Am I a coward for not facing my fears and body image issues and wearing that bikini to defeat what I’m afraid of? Yes. But am I weak? No.

I’m just not ready for it yet. And that’s okay.


Maybe I won’t make it through this vacation. Maybe I’ll have to ask my mom to borrow me the money to get away from here sooner with Jamie and get home because I won’t be able to stand being here anymore. Maybe.

But no matter what, I know one thing for sure: Even if I can’t handle this, I won’t give up on recovery. Relapses hurt like hell and they occur all the time, but I carry on. 

This is not over yet. Dear mental illnesses, prepare yourselves for the fight that’s coming because I won’t go down without one. I’m not the little girl anymore I was when you came to me. I know you’re still able to pull me down every day a few times, but I’m getting stronger as I get back on my feet every time. 

Nobody ever said this was easy.

No one ever said it would be this hard.

I’ll break down, but will I give up? Hell no. Yeah, I’m depressed, but I can assure you of one thing: I’m not weak.

The hell called summer vacation

My mom, sister, son and I arrived in Italy on Saturday and will be here until the beginning of September. We’ve been to this country many times before because it’s one of the most beautiful ones in this world with its landscapes, language, architecture, history, people, food and culture, but there is this one little huge issue: It’s a summer vacation and summer vacations and I have had a little problem with each other in the last few years. Since my eating disorder started about six years ago, I’ve had huge body image issues and of course, they’re worst when you’re spending your summer vacation because that’s where you’re continuously confronted with bikinis, pools, beaches, heat, sunshine and short clothes which are all torturous things for people like me who can’t look at their bodies in a healthy way and have a rather disturbed image of them. For a long time, I struggled with choosing between staying at home with my son or going on this trip, but in the end I decided to come along because I thought I could handle it and really love Italy and my family. But I was wrong and overestimated myself. 

I can’t handle it.

At all.


I’m totally fine with our nice apartment and shopping trips and visiting cities and strolling around discovering new things in a foreign country, but this whole thing with the clothes and the sunbathing and swimming is killing me inside. I’m trying my hardest, but there’s no way I can do this. I went swimming once because I really love to swim, but wearing a bikini almost made me cry the whole time. It’s so pathetic, isn’t it? I don’t have the right to complain. I’m here at this beautiful place with my beautiful family on my son’s first vacation in his so far short life he seems to really enjoy and I’m constantly depressed. I smile and pretend I’m fine hiding in my room whenever my family goes to the beach or pool, but it’s all a big fat lie. I can’t stand it here.

I’m such an ungrateful weak little bitch. Others never get the chance to spend such a great vacation at a place like this and instead of enjoying it, I can’t handle my stupid sick thoughts that make me hate myself 24/7. The fact that I hate myself this much somehow makes me hate myself even more.

I hate myself because I thought I’d be strong, but I’m obviously not, and because I have a perfectly fine body and feel utterly disgusted by every single inch of it. 


And most of all, I hate myself because I’m ruining everything for everyone, again.

With my stupid sick thoughts caused by stupid disorders in my head I can’t get rid of.

Is this a part of recovery or a relapse? Because I can’t seem to see the difference anymore. All I want to do is leave right now, but there’s no way I can afford the flights for my son and me and my mom won’t leave with us until the scheduled departure in two weeks. And I definitely won’t ruin my family’s entire vacation by making them leave earlier.

So what will I do? Suck it up? I guess I don’t have another choice.

I’ll survive it, right? That’s all that matters. I can cry when nobody’s looking. 

I never thought this would be so unbearable, though. Hell, I’m so stupid. 

Fucked up feelings

This is gonna be a very personal post and if you’re not interested in this kind of stuff, I recommend you not to read it. But I need to write down what’s on my mind at the moment because it’s the only effective and healthy way I know to deal with my thoughts. First of all, I need to ask you a question. What’s your greatest fear? Lots of people I asked told me they don’t know, but that’s a lie. Everyone knows their fears. We all have big and small ones, those that protect and those that paralyze us. Some are useful and others completely useless, but we definitely have them. Most of them can be defeated, but that’s scary, so most people prefer to just obey them and pretend they’re not even there. This or the other way, our fears always subconsciously control certain parts of our lives. 


I have small fears like clowns or those guys who paint their skin silver and then pretend they’re statues, but then there are the big ones, the ones that continuously try to ruin my life. Despite the fact that I’m afraid of a whole lot of things (which is why my counselor suggested I might have an anxiety disorder), my biggest ones concern emotions. 

Feelings are frightening. They’re overwhelming, scary and almost uncontrollable. I know that they’re there to tell us what we need or don’t need, but that doesn’t make it any better for me. I have BPD (borderline personality disorder), so my feelings are extremely intense and hard for me to handle. Over the years of therapy, I’ve learned to at least name them, but I still either feel everything or nothing and this extreme loss of control is very difficult for me because that’s another one of my greatest fears: losing control. Control means safety and security and losing that means vulnerability and instability. And when you’re vulnerable, you can get hurt. And I break my own heart basically every day by making myself feel like shit, so I really don’t need other people to do that.


The creepiest feelings are the romantic ones. Love is an incredibly weird thing. I don’t know why movies always make it look so easy, because it isn’t. Nothing about love is easy. You can never control it, you can never be sure about it, you can never settle it and there is so much more necessary to make a relationship work than just the love. The basis of a healthy relationship is trust and at least I believe that’s a very tough thing to do. How do you know if someone is trustworthy? Theoretically spoken, anyone could break your trust. Trusting people means letting them in and telling them everything. There are no secrets or lies allowed to build real trust and once it’s destroyed, usually by some kind of betrayal, it’s really hard to ever get back to where you where before it broke. Once the trust is lost, everything is.

And when you love someone, you make yourself depend on them and losing them can crush you completely. You make yourself need them and I don’t like to need other people. I want to be able to handle things myself, you know? Besides, a relationship means so much work and responsibility. You need to spend a lot of time together, have dates, spend a shit load of money on pretty underwear, don’t just share your beds, but also your lives, get along with the other’s friends and family, fight, forgive, work on your sex life so it doesn’t get boring AF, be honest, buy gifts, have things in common… And intimacy? Frightening. Especially when you have huge issues with your body and then the other one sees you naked all the time.

It’s all so exhausting. And this whole emotional thing, oh god. You’re so vulnerable in front of your partner. Am I the only one who’s scared by that? And what if you live together or get married for I don’t know how long and then one falls for someone else? How can you make sure the feelings stay? They don’t. And neither do people. It all ends with heartbreak, so what’s the whole point?

You do it for the good times. For the moments and memories you share. But I’m so afraid of what happens after the good stuff.

Have you ever heard of the saying ‘hurt people hurt people’? That applies to me.

I hurt others or myself (emotionally) so nobody else can hurt me. It doesn’t make sense, I’m aware of that, but at least I can stay in control and don’t have to let my guard down.
But the thing is that I’m not sure if I can keep doing that. While I manage to face all of my other fears and fight and even defeat them every day, I’m constantly running away from the emotions that scare me. And maybe it’s time to stop running now.

When I broke up with my son’s father in 2013, I did it because I was terrified of my feelings and this whole situation with vulnerability and trust. To not get heartbroken, I stashed away all of my feelings for him in a box deep inside of me and didn’t feel them anymore. I know that sounds weird, but I am actually capable of shutting down my feelings and feeling empty- but to do that, I need to distance myself from the source. So when I met him again after a few emotionless relationships in 2015, the box popped open again and we came back together just to break up again when I was pregnant because of his behavior and once again, I turned off everything I felt because the only one who breaks my heart is me. 


But this time, I can’t run. 

Since Jamie was born, we’ve been seeing each other on a regular basis and talked casually about pointless things, but when we met a friend of ours together, everything fell apart because I hadn’t considered that she’d been one of the people who’d brought us together in 2013 in the first place. And after a short while, we found ourselves talking about the past. And then my ex and I met again two days later to talk about it again. I don’t know how it exactly happened, but just like that, it was all back. Everything I’d felt for him was there again. 

Furthermore, at some point in our conversation, we admitted we both still loved the other one, talked about what we’d need in a relationship, dating deal breakers and that we’re both willing to try it again. To be honest, if Jamie wasn’t our son, I’d run for the hills. But our child will always create a bond between us and I therefore can’t just ignore what’s going on between us. It’s impossible for me to see him all the time thinking about what could have been or could still be if we were both just brave enough to try it once more. I usually don’t give people more than two chances, but I’d give us one more because for reasons I don’t know, I still love this stupid guy. He drives me crazy every day I see him and there are so many things I hate about him and we really don’t have anything in common anymore, but my feelings haven’t changed in three years regardless.

But because I have always been the one of us to make the first move, I told him he’d have to do it this time to give our relationship another chance. This week, we agreed to spend the day together and that he’d come to my place afterwards where we’d bring Jamie to bed together and spend the evening with each other. Well, after we’d endlessly been talking about the fact that we still love each other and are willing to try it again, of course I expected something.

The problem is just that he didn’t.

We were back in my neighborhood and went for another walk before going back to my place when he got a call from his annoying best friend who apparently was standing in front of his house to pay a surprise visit. Like, what the hell? Don’t normal people call before showing up to make sure you’re home? Aren’t most people busy with their lives most of the time? Seriously, if someone just showed up on my doorstep, I’d be like, what the heck? As long as nothing life changing is going on, you gotta check whether people have time for you or not before going to see them. It kind of got me wondering what kind of friendship these two have. They’re like, really close, you know? Texting all the time with hearts and stuff and showing up whenever they’re feeling like it. Kind of like… Friends with benefits. God, I hope not, because that girl is cringey.

Anyway, so he got that call and he was like, sure, I’ll come home. And I was… How do I put it into nice words? Not pleased. Not at all. How would you feel if you were waiting for a guy to make the first step to get back together after spending a romantic day together with your kid and then that guy got a phone call from the female best friend and he’d just run like a dog hearing someone whistle? I’ll give you a hint: you’d feel a whole lot of anger.

The probably worst thing was that he didn’t even get it. He’s almost twenty years old and couldn’t even slightly understand why I was mad at him. After like half an eternity he at least realized THAT I was angry, though. And that it was serious and not the girly kind of being bitchy. To be honest, if the whole thing had stopped there, it would have been over. I’m not his fool and I’m not willing to make myself one either. For anyone. But especially not for him. I told him how pissed I was and that he obviously didn’t give a shit about me and that I wasn’t willing to keep being a part of this ridiculous game. Also, I mentioned what I had expected from the evening and if my heart hadn’t already been frozen at that point of time, it would have probably shattered into a million pieces when he then said that he wasn’t ready for that yet. Like, what was he waiting for? A sign from Jesus or some shit like that? You know, he’s the whore when it comes to the two of us. While I can count my boyfriends with one hand, he can’t even tell me all of his girlfriends’ names. How pathetic is that? He’s been having more pointless relationships in the last few years than I’ll hopefully have in my entire life and yet he’s the one complaining that he’s not ready for a relationship after telling me he still loves me countless numbers of times and calling me beautiful and sweet stupid stuff like that. Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable. And he couldn’t even name me a real reason. When I asked, he said he was still struggling with the way he had treated me in 2015 (you know, when he didn’t give a damn about me and I broke up with him as a result), but the way he treated me now was just as bad and how can he think he’s the one who has the right to still suffer from 2015? If anyone can do that, it’s me. But guess what- I got over it. It’s been a year. Life goes on. End of story. I’m the one who got hurt and I dealt with it. How come he can’t?


So no, I didn’t accept that reason and was willing to say goodbye and end the whole thing. As in, everything. 

But then he decided to turn things around and make up by asking me if he was allowed to prove he still cared because he suddenly seemed to realize that he was really screwing things up. I’ve never been the kind of girl who runs after guys and he seemed to remember that. And I let him try to prove his feelings for me. So basically in the middle of me getting us into a huge fight that would end in me becoming emotionless again, he just kissed me. In an empty street a mile away from my house with our child in front of us in the stroller. It was really weird. 

For reasons unknown to me, I still love him, so of course I joined the kiss. I couldn’t do anything else. And then he cancelled his ‘date’ with this stupid bestie and we went to my place where we brought Jamie to bed and he cooked something extremely boring I could have cooked as well, but it was quite good. On the couch, I forced him to talk to me about things because unlike male human beings, female human beings want to talk about their feelings. I don’t know how guys can prefer confusion and unknowing to settling things once and for all, but I definitely don’t. And after pushing and annoying him for minutes, he finally gave me the real reason: fear. Perfect. We (or more like me) found out and that we both have the exact same fears when it comes to our relationship: betrayal, cheating, trust, breakups, vulnerability and hurting each other. But we both handle it in completely different ways: while I’ve mentioned multiple times that I’d rather try and fail and then at least know that we don’t work and can both move on with our lives and just be parents, he seems to enjoy it when things are incredibly weird between the two of us and we don’t know how to act in from of each other. But I’m not gonna do that. I asked him what he wanted to do. How this was supposed to keep going with us. What we would do. No, what HE would do. And he didn’t know. He seems to never know anything.

What crossed my mind when I did that is a mystery to me, but I kissed him and we made out. It started all innocent just with lips and tongues, but when I told him to kiss my neck (a trigger of mine) and made him take his shirt off to dig my nails into his back (a trigger of his) while kissing him, it quickly heated up and when I told him we had a guest room in the basement with my old bed, it was over with all of the innocence. With our son asleep in my bedroom in his baby bed on the first floor, we had sex in the basement. 

Do I regret it? No. But was it smart? No. I don’t regret any of it, but we shouldn’t have done it anyway. It made things even more complicated. 

My feelings for him are really twisted: I love and hate him at the same time. There are so many things that drive me crazy like his stupid clothes and his stupid hair and his nose and his attitude and how he never tells me anything, but then there is his smell and his skin and his hands and his stupid hair and his voice and his lips and… It’s extremely confusing to be so torn when looking at someone. I want to punch him in his silly face and kiss every inch of his body at the same time. Like, what the hell?

And I never know how he’s about to act. Sometimes he’s really sweet and writes romantic messages and hugs me from behind (I love that) and promises me so many things, but then, the next second, he doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t ask me about anything, doesn’t text me and basically doesn’t even bother to check if Jamie and I are still alive. And tells me ridiculous stuff about him not being ready for this like we’re fourteen again. I hate it when people can’t pick a side.

So what are we gonna do now? 

I set him a deadline because I don’t want to repeat 2015 when he still couldn’t make up his mind after an entire month. We had sex six days ago and now he has two more weeks left to make a choice once and for all because that’s how long I’m staying in Italy with my mom and sister. I’m really curious to see how this will turn out. If he won’t have made a choice, I will and that will be ending everything. If he’ll want to try it again, we will. If he won’t, we never will. 

This is gonna get interesting. So far, he hasn’t even bothered to contact me to at least wish us a good trip. Ah hell.