**disclaimer before this blog begins.. I am fragile and my brain is starved, I am not okay and if this blog does not make sense, or if this blog hasn’t been correctly articulated, then I apologise but I’ve given my full capacity**

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As a child, I remember sitting in class watching the time tick by as I eagerly awaited the end of the school day. As I’ve aged the days have turned to weeks, then to months and have rolled into years. Time appears to tick by faster and faster.

Pause for a moment and try to picture your life along a timeline, dating from when you were conceived up until this very moment.

In history at school the events placed on a timeline were only ever significant; they were the events that unlined and defined the era or person in focus. Ask yourself, which events will be on your timeline? Which events best portray you and your story?

I’ve spent many hours pondering what my events may be. Asking myself what mark I’ve left upon the world, what defines me and best tells my story?

Like all things in life, our timelines will eventually end. Often they will end when you die of old age or when tragedy strikes and God calls you home. But what happens if they end sooner than expected?

I’ll be real with you, the depressions been heavier than ever before. I’ve said that before but in all honesty, lately it’s been unbearable. In the span of the last week alone, I’ve come near to ending my own life twice, though yes, I’m still here. However, for how long, I can’t say. To place it bluntly, I want to die. That’s selfish of me, I know and I’m sorry, but it’s where I’m at. I can no longer fathom a life where I am okay and healthy. I can no longer see the light or feel hope. From a rational point of view, I know life is worth living and I know that God is there but both of those rational views have been built upon what others have told me. The tangibility of my faith has shrivelled away and I no longer have faith. My heart feels weak, both emotionally but also physically.

Parked at the beach on Thursday night, I wanted to end my life. I couldn’t do it any more. I sat in my car and sobbed. R left her family and drove down to meet me and she sat by my side for hours. Out of everything she told me, this particularly hit home; “My darling, you are dying. My medical, personal, pharmacy and faith backgrounds are all saying the same thing. I’ve been praying and I’ll be honest with you, I don’t think you’re going to make it, my love. And I don’t think it will be your eating disorder that will kill you, I think it will be your deep depression. I think you are going to commit suicide and I don’t think it will be long until you do. I don’t want that for you and I pray that I’m wrong but if I’m not, I need you to know that I will be by your side and I will show you unconditional love until the end. Whether it’s days, weeks, years or until we’re old and wrinkly. I will always love you and I will never leave you”.

As her words were spoken, my heart sank and it felt like my entire body was lit alight, burning from the inside out. She was right and I knew she was. There is a very real possibility that my timeline will reach its end sooner than later. Whether it’s on the 19th of this month, tomorrow or a few months from now. The possibility remains valid. My heart aches at the thought of the heartache I will leave behind but I know that with time those hearts will heal. Whether I’m right or wrong, I truely believe that people like R, J, T and my family would be well better off without me. These days I have felt like more of a burden and a problem, as opposed to a person, daughter or friend. I do not want to live anymore and I’m afraid that if I say that, someone will lock me up until I do. I am not skin and bones, I am not how I wanted to be, I am not beautiful and I am not worthy. So tell me why I would want to stay? In one answer, Little A would be my reason, but I also know that I’m damaged and I’m a ticking time bomb so perhaps she too, would be better off without me.

Yes, I am loved but what is love? I’ll be raw here because I’m struggling to comprehend love. My mum has told me that my dad loves me.. is love found whilst I’m thrown against the bathroom wall in the dark, damaged while he towers over me? Is love found amidst pain? Last years stranger said he loved me.. he didn’t know me but was love found while he forced himself upon me? My mum says she loves me.. is love found with a back hand to the face and amidst the horrid words and scenarios I’ve blogged on? My grandma has been said to love me.. is love conditional and only given if I’m skinny and perfect? My uncle supposedly loved me.. was his love found throughout the constant abuse and pain? His son, my 30 year old cousin was said to love me.. was it love when he towered over my bed as a young teen in the early hours of morning? The biggest one.. God, our Heavenly Father, loves me.. where was His love when I needed it most? I genuinely struggle to perceive God as a loving Heavenly Father when I don’t know what love is and when I have no tangible evidence to help me understand what a loving father looks like. I feel alone and I don’t feel love. When T sat across from me in her office and asked me if I loved my father.. I cried and told her that I don’t know what love is anymore. There are many more questions and examples of situations where I wonder where love was.

But in saying that I can also say that I know I have been shown love. Whether I know what love is or not, I have been told that I am loved and I believe that even if I can’t feel it, I’ve been given love. Whether it’s R, leaving everything to love on me for 3+hrs in the car at night. Or T, cancelling appointments and going out of her way to hold my hand. Or my mum quitting her job for me. Or J, taking me to my first doctors appointment. Or R, knowing my secret but loving me and not saying a word until I was ready to tell her myself. Or little A, forever filling my love tank with her hugs, kisses and big blue eyes. Or T, staying after hours and driving me to my first admission. Or T, bringing me a chair latte and sitting with me during my second admission whilst she should have been packing for her trip. Or T, hugging me while I fell apart. Or J, inviting me round after dark to sit on the couch and talk me through. Or B, checking in on me and sitting with me in church. Or TR, loving on me and praying over me. Or C, simply listening and understanding where I’m at. Or R, knowing what I look like and telling me I’m beautiful and valued. Or R, hearing, knowing and not judging but rather loving me despite it all. Whether I feel it or not, love are the hands holding mine, the arms embracing me and it’s the army that walks behind and around me until my final breath.

The guilt and blame are mine to bear. Against what I’ve been told, I do believe the fault is mine. It’s my fault that the traumas took place and it’s my fault those men found me. It’s my fault that my depression is spiralling because I feed and entertain it hourly. It’s my fault that my body is quite literally shutting down.. I run and push myself even though I know my heart is failing, I continue to throw up on average 12 times a day even though I know that the blood that comes out isn’t okay. I drown in laxatives even though I know how awful they are for me. I choose not to take my medication because frankly I don’t want to live. I proceed to hurt myself and plan my death because I believe I am not worthy of life and I am too far gone to be saved. I continue to destroy myself even though I know I’m dying. My blood pressures and my heart functions are not okay. My muscles, stomach lining, oesophagus, my iron, my b12, my vitals and everything inside of me is not okay. My body is literally eating itself to death and I’m simply tagging along for the ride, antagonising the process.

Upon my timeline, the labels will read; conception, birth, childhood traumas, severe depression, failure, anorexia and bulimia, suicide attempts, rape’s, abuse, more traumas, nightmares, self harm, hospital admissions, self destruction, a deep sense of unworthiness, loss of faith, no longer knew what love was, isolation… self inflicted death and a life of pain that was simply her fault.

Whether this blog is my last or if I live long enough to one day publish my book… To those I’ve hurt, I’m forever deeply sorry and to the two incredible women who have journeyed alongside me, shown me Gods love, grace and peace, and have read my blog but proceeded to accept me anyway.. I adore you and I thank you ❤️

– c x