The Other C.

This one is about me. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.

Commencing, with what I feel can only be some sort of practical joke God is playing, days before we found out that my Dad is terminally ill (see previous post).

I’ve been a lot better since the big meltdown, and seeing a counsellor more regularly is definitely a part of that. My community mental health team have finally pulled themselves together and figured out that they think I have an anxiety disorder, so we’ve started CBT.

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The Big C.

Cancer. In case that wasn’t immediately obvious.

My Dad. It has spread. From his kidney to his lungs, and now his bones. This evil, insidious, sneaking little disease has got a hold on his body that he’s not going to be able to shake off.

There are drugs they can give him that will extend his life some. How long, the doctors don’t know, because they are best at treating tumours in the soft tissues – great, should hit the lungs pretty hard – but in all the information I can find on them, they don’t talk about any effects on the growths in his bones.

So he’s going to die, most likely in less than 3 years.

He’s 62.

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Taking stock.

So, as I mentioned in my last post, I haven’t had the best few months. I had … I want to say, a spectacular meltdown, but there was nothing spectacular about it. Nobody saw. Nobody knew for the first few days.

I had a crazy over-the-top stressful couple of weeks at work, and once I reached my days off, I just collapsed. I went straight back to that place where I am useless and worthless and I hated myself, and I wanted to be dead. I got closer than I ever have before to making plans to kill myself. I think I sobbed for two hours straight.

I am, in some ways, incredibly blessed, because I never seem to spend long in that terrifying place. For me, it’s more that suicide becomes a logical answer to all of the problems that I’m trying to deal with, currently. And tells me that something is seriously wrong.

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So, it’s been a while since I have blogged. I’ve been pretty unwell again, and that’s just not compatible with writing. Which pretty much sucks, because I love to write.

I want this blog to be about how I survived and came out from being unwell again. Because for a while there, I forgot all of my hard-learned techniques for coping, and I just melted down. And it was awful. But eventually, it all came back. So this blog is for me, to remind me how it is that I survived. And maybe it’s for you, too; if any of this stuff helps you, awesome. If not, just disregard it. Only you know what works for you.  Continue reading

Le Sigh.

Yesterday and today have been hard. And I am tired.

Sometimes I feel like I have come so far in conquering all the madness that goes on inside my head. Like it’s all just fallen in to place. And then something happens, or I’m tired or ill (this evening, I am both – yuk) and the façade just crumbles.  Continue reading

The Hard One

I am bubbling over with ideas and things that I want to say in this blog today, but I keep hearing from God the push to be honest. Completely honest. And for me, that means telling you about the deepest, darkest place that I ended up in. About the time when I wanted to die. Then, I guess, everything else about this blog with hopefully make more sense.

I’m going to try and start at the beginning Continue reading


It is very amusing to come back to a blog that you started over a year ago and see that in your last post, you had expected to “miss a few days” here and there… I think I’ve missed around 400days so far!

I reread my old posts(all four of them!). I had not realised how brutally honest I had been. And it was very hard – but also very refreshing – to read, especially after feeling recently that honesty is an awfully hard thing to do. Continue reading