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On the bridge.

So, I took some time off work.  Waited for the depression to wash away from my soul.  Am I bothered that I didn't make it this time?  Not really.  Not really bothered at all.  Like a scarecrow with stuffing for brains, I move on through it all.  It's kind of nice to take a snapshot of this place.  I had some lovely giggles with my gf today.  She's so funny when she wants to be, and pretty adorable most of the time.  I think maybe it was worth not dying to have that time with her.  If I could just hide away from everything and be with her, I think everything would be ok.  But I can't, I have to work and live in this awful capitalist hostile fucking world. Ok so that's my navel-gazing done.  I'm going to be referred for STEPPS (which is some kind of training for people with emotional disorders), I think, maybe, in a few months.  Who knows.  Mental health services are so stretched and they were like yes, no, yes, no, yes about even getting a care co-ordinator.  It&
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Always wanting to die

 I think I've got to the point where I'm going to be successful.  Although we all call life fragile, actually dying is tricky.  Men tend to use violent endings: trains, cars, cliffs.  For women, it's a little different.  I don't know if it's because we think it through, but I'd like to have a peaceful ending: drifting off into unconsciousness - like falling asleep, and just before, a little message just so my body is found fairly quickly before decomposition.  It's always the hardest on our loved ones, of course, and it's an awful process of weighing how much emotional torture you can take in order to protect those around you.  It's tricky, when I'm well I try my hardest to make those emotional connections, to give me some feeling of security.  But my life is a constant slide of emotions, an inability to trust in myself and others, and fear.  I worry about upsetting people, I worry they will suddenly change and I'll be poured into a different
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An introduction

Often, what people seem to want is a narrative.  What happened to you? How did you feel?  What do you remember?  But it never really happens like that.  It's more of a slow realisation and a raising of so many other questions.  Most important for survivors is: how can I function? And it's this question that I'm battling with, it's the question I brought to my therapist, who I've seen for the better part of a year now.  We're working on emotional regulation, spending as much time as possible in "ventral" states: present, aware, a state of connectedness, and safety.  Part of me now wants to somehow describe what happened, how it happened, but I'm often so lost for words and I descend into dissociation so rapidly that I can't articulate what is going on for me. Today we talked about "cues of safety", staying in our happy zone.  One of the problems for me of complex, or developmental trauma, is that often I can't even trust that I am
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