My journey.

I started this blog in early 2010 and finally, over 6 years later, I'm finally going to write this. Maybe I couldn't before, because I was lazy. Or maybe, I just didn't understand myself or my journey well enough to do it. I think I'm good now, I think I can tell you my story.

I'm 26, kind of short, and drink at least 2l of Pepsi Max a day (although it can go up to 4l quite easily). I'm a lesbian in a good relationship, and I'm really close to my mum's side of my family. I never turn the TV off, but I'm usually simultaneously watching the Kardashians or the news and reading books about politics or murderers. In a lot of ways, I'm really ordinary (save the Pepsi thing. My innards must be cleaner than a penny after being doused in the stuff). 

Except, well...

I'm not going to go into a lot of detail (just 'cause I blog about all this stuff quite a lot), but here's an overview of my childhood- sexually abused from age 3, for 5 years. That was overnight replaced with domestic abuse from somebody else, which lasted until I was 15. Then I was homeless for best part of a year. Then, suddenly, my chaos was over and I became chaotic myself, to make up for it.

As all that was going on, understandably, I developed mental health problems. I started making myself sick when I was 8 and started restricting my calories when I was around 11. I had panic attacks from 9, although I've always been a generally anxious person. I was cutting from 12, and first tried to kill myself when I was 16. 

I was first admitted to a psych ward at 18. I was there a few weeks, out about a month, then back in. That pattern was repeated for years. A period at home, a period on an eating disorder ward, a period in an acute psychiatric ward, rinse and repeat. Throughout my teens and early 20s, I had electrolyte treatments and tube feedings. I was hospitalised to follow plans to increase my weight and reduce my vomiting, and then followed my own, far more intense plans, to undo the good. I made it to uni, but ended up getting 'asked' (ahem: ordered) to leave. By 22, I'd been in 12 different mental health units, most several times over. Finally, I was admitted to my last ED ward and then transferred straight from there to a personality disorder ward, where I ended up spending two and a half years.

I was discharged in 2015 and when I turned 26, I got to say that 25 had been my first age with no hospital admissions, since I was 17. I'm definitely in recovery, but I don't know what the future holds.

All I know is, I'm doing the best I can. And this blog is my favourite therapy.

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