Running low

A lot has changed in this past year, I have been somewhat successful In getting through a retake year at A-levels, I am (hopefully) about to complete my ISTD Tap teacher training, and I have a gained so many new and brilliant experiences as a dance teacher with kids I love and who I have seen grow and progress. But there is still something missing. I feel that with my life I can never actually tell anyone whats going on. My family life is too complicated to even try and explain but even that is the barrier between letting anyone know what is going on with me. I find teaching such a struggle when parents trust me with there kids and thank me for what I have done; all I have running through my head is ‘if only you knew how much of a fuck up I am’. They really don’t know me – I am no role model to their kids.

 I have scars laden all up my arms which I hide with a ‘confident’ and professional exterior, wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer whilst everyone surrounding me is there either in summer dresses or vests. I cannot hide my body so successfully. My weight has plummeted recently as I have lost over 30lbs in the past few months. I feel unable to eat anything and I am constantly stuck between exhaustion, hunger and guilt. There is only so long you can pretend to be fine for. I have some parents complementing me on my new slim physique, some obviously staring at my figure, and some actually having the guts to ask if I’m ok only dreading the answer. My answer is always ‘I’m fine’. I wish I knew how to say anything else. I cant bring myself to it. I am not a problem.

I thought I could get out of this cycle I have landed myself in. At first it was the naivety of I will be able to snap out of it like last time, but I continuously impress myself with my will power whilst also scare my self with the lack of control. I feel myself failing at something I thought I could only be good at. I no longer want my weight to go down, I don’t want the attention and I don’t want to show weakness. I don’t know how long my teaching will last; should you be able to teach kids when you look like me?

I want to be their role model but they cannot take me as a role model. I don’t want younger ones growing up thinking that what I’m doing (what they can outwardly see of it anyways) is normal and aspirational. I am constantly stuck infront of mirrors in tight fitting clothing. My mind confuses me. I can look at my body as fat, perfect and disgustingly thin all whilst teaching one hour dance class. Who the hell can I trust if I can no longer even trust myself? 

People tell me that the more you talk about things the easier life gets, well I am positively awful (putting it very politely) at talking to people so in a way I’m hoping that this blog or post at least may help somewhat; well its worth a shot…



I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I feel hopeless and completely useless. I have no purpose in this world; as if I don’t fit in. Things go good, yes but not for long. These minute high points in my life are followed by a continuous downward spiral which I can’t get out of. At the same time though I feel like a fraud. I feel like I am just making up these feelings to give myself a reason for screwing things up. I don’t know what I can do anymore.

Birthday’s are a time where you should be able to feel loved and special (well that’s what I believe anyway) but I’m just full of dread. To me it’s a time to highlight all those fake friends and relationships you have in life. You know the ones you make to get you through the day, to try and make yourself feel less lonely? These relationships don’t even work for me anymore. I sit surrounded by space at college now – the only communications are the imperative ones to make me not look like I’m mute.

Days are counting down now until my birthday and my family are not letting me forget it, constantly asking me what I want to do? You don’t want to know what I want to do. I want to curl up in a ball and pretend that I don’t exist on the good days. Other days all I can think about is how ‘if I died on my birthday at least it will be one less day for people to remember me’. My birthday and death day being the same sounds like a grand idea.

To me putting ‘happy’ in the same sentence as ‘birthday’ seems like a joke to me. The 27th October is a prominent time for mum to spring into action once again. My mum grows on me like mould. I’m the host to her party. I let her take control of my emotions until there is none of the original me left. I get thrown in the bin and don’t learn from my mistakes either. I hate myself for that. Why don’t I ever stop myself for falling for the same thing again? This relationship is a fake one which springs up when she needs to prove to her friends that everything’s fine and dandy and in fact she’s not psychotic. That’s probably a harsh word to use but the only one at this minute in time that is appropriate for her actions.




I feel on edge but in control. My dance class is flying by but I have a devil on my shoulder trying to pull me down. Down to a lower level only my sister has seen. The level I’m at when I’m alone sobbing in my car, or shaking motionlessly in my room. Shit. It’s coming again.

Never before have I shown ‘weakness’ to the outside world. In fact I am portrayed as that composed yet slightly ditzy girl. No one knows when I’m sad or when I’m about to break down, yet I do.

I can feel it, but I’m trapped. Trapped in my own fictional reality, my fake life. The person whom I want people to see to avoid the truth. I’m lonely and isolated in my body. It does things I do not wish. The past haunts it; makes my body rattle in rage. So much for being in control of my life.

Get out. GET OUT! I’m screaming at myself to escape this situation. Hysteria is building up inside me whilst nausea fills my stomach in waves. ‘For god’s sake’ my rationality is saying.

I’m now trying to ride it out in the outside breeze.

5 minutes…

10 minutes…

30 minutes…

What on earth is my body doing to me?

Now huddled in a ball on the ground things are calming. My shaking is subsiding and breath steadying. I still can’t feel my arms or face. A dull tingling sensation is all that links me with reality.

A stampede of people gush through the door as once more I’m paralyzed and screaming. What for? I cannot say. This time it’s worse. People coming up to me, wondering what the hell I’m doing. Only know they realise I’ve been missing for a good part of an hour.

My hands have now been paralyzed into a cramped first. I thought this was meant to be a ‘fight or flight’ reaction. I don’t seem to be doing much. Shaking – yes, crying – yes, looking crazy – yes. Why couldn’t my body have chosen to fly? Fly out of this situation and into a new one. Instead everything is stuck inside of me. Embarrassment, panic, sadness, shame; my body is full of it. GET ME OUT!!

I’m now only petrified of humiliating myself again and I’m ridden with guilt for my double standards. I see others having panic attacks and only see the strength they have to get through them. I’m still ashamed. I’m ashamed of people stereotyping me, thinking I’m incapable, and forcing me to be that vulnerable deer in the headlights. I won’t be that deer, but what else can I do?

Why didn’t I start earlier?

This is a question I often hear myself say. It feels as if i’m genetically hardwired to challenge my future self as much as possible. Not a good challenge. One which nearly breaks me, skrews with my head, and makes me doubt and question myself until i feel nothing. Numb. I’m a silhouette in the background; a shadow in the dark. But is this a fantasy or reality? More than ever now i just want to be that shadow or silhouette, i want to be in the background. I want to be invisible.

Time will tick by. It will skip minutes, hours and even days until the penny finally drops. I’ve run out of this ‘indefinite continued progress of existence’. I can’t see progress. I hope for it. I hope that some how i can absorb every book and retain every line. After all i just need to know the answers, how hard can that be?

It’s as if I actually have belief in myself. Hope, optimism and plane idiocy are three words which come to mind. My days feel long and care free. But the nights are longer and strenuous. No sleep. No peace of mind. Fear.

Why do i do this to myself?

Existential crisis

I find mental health is such an open and ugly word to use. Trapped in your mind and a body you do not care for. Why is it that help involves everyone? I’m embarrassed. I feel like shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. What an awful word to use yet the only one satisfactory enough to describe my feelings. But why do I have to describe? Bottling up apparently makes things worse, trying to figure it out myself takes too long and leads to too much pain. Why is going public the only way? I hate it.

Why do I have to wind through so many channels to get what I want…what I need? I feel like an actress. I’m fighting for people to believe me. Why won’t they believe me? I have to fit a stereotype. A stereotype that fits a diagnosis. Well what if these diagnoses’ are wrong, what if they are just traits or a type of personality not a condition which has to be defined? All I can say to that is “well at least everyone else can be fucked over by that one”. I have to be physically ill and showing symptoms to get anywhere with systems. I thought mental illness was just in your head. I must be wrong as to everyone else you have to see it. Why haven’t they learnt? The thousands of suicides and constant comments ‘I wish I knew’… It’s within us. Our minds, within our bodies. Not the exterior. Yes I have scars. Yes I may not always appear rational, calm, composed… Normal? Is that a word even able to be associated with the human race?

Constant campaigns for change and acceptance but do I ever see anything happen. I don’t believe so. These politicians pledging to improve mental health but all I see is a huge fucking barrier… my body. How can others ever be able to help when all that I am is trapped. Do I even matter in this world or am I just another prop so that the world can just keep on ticking by.

Everyone sees the point in life. I really don’t. Maybe my existence doesn’t have a purpose … the enjoyment? That makes me laugh; I can’t see any. Trivial things hurt. Family hurts you, friends hurt you, stability hurts you as in the end its all swallows you up. I feel like I’m drowning in a black hole. Getting a glimpse of the beauty of the stars in the night sky before their existence is snatched before you in an instance. All they are is a memory. SO far away that you cannot even see them whilst they’re ‘alive’ and glowing. I find a morbid sense of security in that. Maybe I enjoy people finally seeing some unknown beauty in me once I’m gone. Like the stars. Maybe I’ll be this beautiful elegant dancer, caring, loving and friendly daughter who tried to be there for everyone and everything. But that’s when I’m gone. Not now. Know-one ever seems to appreciate one another whilst they’re living. As soon as they’re no more everyone sees this new light shine on them as if suddenly they’re death is that light in the darkness, the hope in a storm. But what use is that to the living. I will never be able to hear those words. The ones of people I love. I am full of hate and unable to forgive. Anger eats away at my sole and the trust I used to have fades because of what?… one person? One person is able to ruin a life and no matter how much I try and deny it and don’t want it to be true, how can I ignore it? Mum. That word means nothing to me anymore. You are simply an unidentified number in my phone. I wish that was true in my head; I can’t get you out of my head. You’ve been there for 19 years and I feel sick from this roller-coaster. I can’t stay on anymore, crashing to my end like the Smiler. I love that irony. I don’t think anyone was smiling when that came to the end. It’s like life. Smile and all the questions go away. ‘Smile and wave boys, smile and wave’. It annoys me how know-one can see behind a faked exterior. See the pain within and the struggle it take to smile. Maybe it’s because know-one wants to. They don’t want the problem.

Well… That problem is me.