I for one am glad this week is almost over. I don’t know about you, but by Monday afternoon I was ready for this week to end. Many times this week I’ve sat, with an open draft in front of me. I’d begin typing and venting all I had to say. I’d spend hours pouring everything out and then I’d stop. I’d read through and then move each newly drafted post, to the trash. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’d do such a thing, after all, I created this blog for the very purpose of raw authenticity and honesty – to be real in the one place I felt safe to share. But the truth is, I sometimes fear that I’m perhaps too honest? Too raw? Too vulnerable?

I re-read some of my drafted posts and the content is questionable. I try think of ways to ‘soften’ them but then I get frustrated because that’s simply defeating the object of even having my blog. If I wanted to be shallow and dishonest then I’d have been that way from the start. However, thats not the case because this blog is the only ground I have where I can be myself and I can vulnerably share things that I would never dream of sharing. I am scared though, don’t get me wrong. I’m scared that upon reading, judgement will be extended. Yet despite my fears and the voices telling me to bottle everything inside.. here goes another brutally honest, raw and vulnerable post. Additionally, I apologise in advance for the chances of this post not making sense, articulation hasn’t been easy in my current state of mind.

Nevertheless, this is where I am.

This week has seen me at a breaking point. Since Saturday night I’ve felt like I’ve subconsciously given up the fight and given into the depression. Everything’s felt so much deeper and heavier. There’s constant battle between myself and the voices in my head, a constant battle between desperation to feel pain and the will to be numb, a constant battle between giving up and giving in, a constant battle between remaining firm in my faith or succumbing to the enemies lies. A constant battle.

In church on Sunday our pastor reminded us that even when we feel like our faith is fading, Jesus is waiting to meet us there. In hindsight I wish I held onto that truth a little tighter, I wish I was able to hold onto many truths a little tighter.

Sunday afternoon was when things began to go pear shaped, I’d come back from a jog at the beach and was laying down on my bed. I remember staring out my window, feeling down until a series of events left me feeling alone and helpless. In a haze, I soon sat on the shower floor, blankly staring at the foggy window in front of me. I was frozen still and as the boiling water ran down my body, I subconsciously felt each sharp sting as the water trickled over the lines on my thighs. I felt nauseous, as if my stomach was a bottomless pit. Later on, I ate dinner with my family. Only moments after, I was hunched over the toilet bowl vomiting in secrecy for the third time that day. My heart skipped a beat when blood appeared too and 15min later I stood in front of my bathroom mirror. Staring at the reflection before me with nothing good going through my mind and the next thing I knew, I was brushing my teeth in an attempt to rid the lingering aftertaste. I then spent the next few hours doing my weekly washing and watching sad movies, anything to avoid what I should have been doing. I was in bed by midnight and I simply laid there, allowing my thoughts to take over until I drifted to sleep.

On Monday morning I woke and told myself everything would be okay and to everyone who asked, I said it was. Getting ready I stood in front of the mirror and practiced smiling, questioning whether or not it would be enough? At work I put on a persona, the fun-loving and care-free, “Miss Wessels” that everyone knew best. I went home at 1pm and cleaned till 3.30pm, music blasting. I then escaped to the beach before my mother was due home from work and my brother from school. Leaving the beach hot and sweaty, I drove the long route home.

Mum and I had another argument that night, I know she cares but I felt so controlled. During our argument she blurted out hurtful things as I just sat there, silent and too tired to defend myself. “Sticking your finger down your throat and starving yourself isn’t going to fix the way you look”, “I’m tired of you being flat all the time, snap out of it”, “Get your head out of the clouds, there’s more to life than just you”. I could go on but I feel ashamed, was she right? Am I nothing but a naive little girl who’s thought herself into a deep depression? Have I brought this upon myself? Have I let my self hatred go too far? What have I done and why can’t I stop? Am I really a failure, a disappointment? Is this all my fault? I pondered these thoughts for the remainder of the night.

By 11.30pm everyone was asleep and I spiralled. I went into the kitchen, grabbed a plate of food, sat in front of a mirror and binged. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Self disgust kicked in and minutes later I was purging. An endless cycle. Gahh this made me hate myself even more. I opened my bathroom cupboard, looked at those old scissors with the orange handle. I had no energy for that tonight, not again and not so soon after the last time. In tears I closed the cupboard and went to lay down in bed. Thoughts flooded in, until the darkness and silence of sleep came in the mid-early hours of morning.

On Tuesday I woke without the willpower to move, breathe or be, what was the point? In my mind I made a pros and cons list to justify my options, and of course the cons were the easiest to think of. I sighed as I was brought back to reality by yet another alarm – it was photo day at work, both staff and class photos. Great, another series of smiles I needed to force. I remained in bed for as long as I could and then I got ready for work, packed the resources I needed for a uni interview afterward and as I was leaving.. another altercation with mum. I was now expected to sit in the lounge after each meal so that she could monitor me and ensure my food stays down. Of course that just meant I therefore would no longer be eating and if she asked, I wasn’t hungry. If I got hungry then I’d down a bottle of water. Annoyed, I got in my car and told myself things would get easier.. eventually.

At work I smiled, said things were great and no one thought twice about it. Everyone believed me, BQ even said I look like I’m feeling better, even I believed it for a short moment. I’d been desperately trying to repress the depression, to push it away but the harder I resist it, the larger the impact when it comes flooding back. I arrived home around 1.30pm and played piano for a little while. Melancholy. Between the hours of 2pm and 4pm I laid down on my bed and felt alone. Thoughts raced through my mind as I questioned all my relationships, both past and present. In the midst of this season and despite the constant human interaction, I genuinely just felt so alone.

As ‘bed time’ neared, I found the events of Monday night repeating themselves almost like clock work, as if it had become a habit or a natural instinct; only this time I wasn’t strong enough to say no, I opened my bathroom cupboard with such haste. I became lost in the moment, telling myself foolish lies.. you deserve the pain. 1.28am rolled around and before I knew it, it was 2.45am and then 3.53am. I laid in bed overthinking as per usual. I’d fought the depression and I’d resisted the thoughts for as long as I could that night, but I suppose vulnerability is most prominent in the early hours of morning. I felt meek and exhausted. Till the hour of 5am, they’d taken control.

Wednesday was the middle of the week. Finally, at 4.37am, I had at last felt a little closer to Friday. Staring at the full moon through my bedroom window, I watched on as dawn neared, praying for just an hour of sleep at the least. It must have been around 5am when I finally fell asleep. Though at 6.30am, for yet another day, I woke tired and without the will or motivation to get out of bed; let alone face reality. Wednesday was the day I noticed how much more neglectful and reclusive I’d become. I’d stopped responding to messages and phone calls, stopped putting myself out there and I hadn’t even gone put fuel in my car, though I’d been driving on empty for 3 days. I have an awful habit of pushing people away, I don’t always mean to but I also don’t want the people I love to see me this way. I’m too ashamed to fall apart in front of them and I’d much rather spare them the trouble.

I went for a jog between 4 and 5pm, it was literally pouring with rain but nothing was going to stop me. I needed to feel, I needed to push my body to its limits and I needed to breathe. I drove home in the rain, one hand loosely on the wheel and the other bracing my head against the window. Tears fell as I fought back the urge to close my eyes for just a second, I think deep down I wished the rain would cause my car to veer off the road.

By Wednesday evening things at home had still continued to regress, whether it’s my inability to interact with my family or their inability to move forward, I still don’t know. I love them and I know they love me too, but I struggle to feel when I’m around them. In the sense that I’ve been unsure of how to act or simply be, there’s such a barrier. I felt and still do, feel so empty. As night fell, I tossed the idea of bible study. The pros were that it’d get me out of the house and give me time to drive in silence, but the cons were the two hour social aspect that came with it.. and if I’m honest, bible study in and of itself was the last thing I felt like doing. I wasn’t sure what to do, until I saw mum beginning to make dinner and decided I’d go – anything to prevent me from the need to force food down my throat, only to force it out moments later. I was so sick of the cycle. But what would you even call the cycle? If you know me, you know how hesitant I am to label things. J messaged me last night around 3 in the morning and amongst her text the word ‘bulimia’ stood out. I knew what it was but I’d never associated the term with myself. She’d asked me if the bulimia had gotten worse… it had but that wasn’t what I called it. In hesitation I googled bulimia, desperately hoping it wouldn’t be an exact description of my behaviours. Word for word, it was. This made my hate myself even more, how did I get here? What was I doing to myself? I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve kept a meal down.. how awful am I! Is there too much wrong with me to even bother anymore? .. depression, an eating disorder, self harm and just last holidays I spent each day drinking until I forgot. I feel so alone in this. My mind was made up and out of a state of total avoidance, I ended up going to bible study, knowing that in spite of how I felt, I needed to spend time in God’s word and if I’d left it up to myself, I wouldn’t have.

It’s Thursday today, well it’s 2.16am to be exact and tomorrow it’ll be Friday at last and needless to say, I’m tired. The dire lack of sleep is beginning to effect me. I have little energy and despite not having eaten anything since Tuesday, I still hate myself. I hate who I am on the outside about as much as I hate who I am on the inside. This isn’t who I wanted to be and this certainly isn’t where I thought I’d be. I won’t lie to you either, I feel hungry but maybe if I can push through until tonight or even tomorrow, then it’ll be easier. A distorted mindset, I know, but nevertheless mine.

Here, in the vulnerability of the early morning hours, the voice in my head is yelling at me; telling me how worthless and unloved I am, how much of a failure and disappointment I am. Another endless cycle as I wrestle with the urge to feel a physical pain that outweighs the emotional pain. I gave in.

I think back to the fight I had with mum only minutes before she went to bed tonight, the argument ended on the note of what a disappointment I’ve become. Oh how my heart breaks because I don’t know what to do or how to fix things here at home. I feel like my life is unraveling in each area, slowly.. then all at once.

I’m not typically one to swear, especially not when talking to God but this whole week has left a burning sensation inside of me and all I want to do is scream at the top of my lungs… “WHAT THE F IS SO WRONG WITH ME AND WHY ARE YOU LETTING THIS HAPPEN?”. I’m the worst, I know, please don’t remind me of how many times I’ve sinned this week.. this post outlines enough as it is. I know God’s not to blame but I just don’t want to be stuck here anymore. However, whether I like it or not, I need to accept the fact that this is where I am. I can only hope and pray that this is where He meets me.

In my state of brokenness, I just want to be held and told that I’m loved.

– c x