Insomnia

I’ve mentioned before about how I struggle to sleep without self-medicating, (drugs, alcohol, etc) a direct result of PTSD.

As of February this year I started my recovery journey as a survivor of domestic abuse.

I have an ADHD diagnosis as well as Autism, anxiety (full blown panic attacks).

My childhood and upbringing was toxic, and oppressive to say the least.

With all this said, you can imagine that I am working so hard just to keep my head above water. I’m barely functioning with the cards I was dealt.

So of course, any kind of traumatic event is more than just “destabilising” for me. It doesn’t take much for something to completely derail me.

If I’m constantly anxious then I’m getting increasingly fatigued but with my cortisol levels through the roof, I’m wired as fuck but running on empty.

I want to try and sleep without drugging myself or drinking alcohol but my brain won’t shut up.

Im not getting a good nights sleep, which is affecting my ADHD which means my thoughts are completely disjointed which is causing me to panic even more.

Every night I’m battling the urge to drink or drug myself to sleep.

Some nights I win and some nights I lose.

If I win I will eventually fall asleep and get a few hours in. I feel like shit but I’m one step closer to being less dependent on drink or drugs.

On the nights that I lose I get a solid 8 hour sleep. On one hand I hate myself for being weak but I find that I focus really well at work – which makes me feel calmer…

Until it’s time to go to sleep again and the battle starts all over again.

So last night I won – about 3/4 hours sleep I think – but I must have looked so rough for a colleague to point out to me that I look tired.

Fuck I felt such a pang in my heart when they said that.

Not much else to say on this other than, tonight, I lose.

Botox & Ready Meals

One good thing right now is, work matters have settled down.

But now that I have job security I’ve plummeted back to my everyday anxieties, insecurities and obsessing about all the things I need to change about myself.

I was recently complimented because of how well I “look after myself”.

This was in reaction to how my weekends this month are booked up at various salons for treatments like Botox, Fillers, nail extensions, eyebrow microblading, hair cut and colour, etc.

Was it a complement or a dig? It doesn’t matter because it was triggering all the same.

Triggered because I know myself that what I’m doing and what is driving me right now is really fucking unhealthy.

People see a version of me that has her shit together – and why wouldn’t they I suppose.

I struggle with everyday conversations with people that have no clue what’s really going on with me.

People make small talk and I’m trying to respond appropriately, find the right words, facial expressions and tone of voice to hide the fact that IM FUCKING SCREAMING INSIDE.

Life is easier if I don’t have to engage in small talk. Especially not in work.

I’m sat here at work in the lunch room now.

I’m trying to avoid eye contact with people, hoping they leave me alone so I can finish eating my microwave meal in peace.

Leave me to my thoughts and miseries thank you very much.

Thoughts like, why is my head spinning? Oh yeah, I’m chronically dehydrated and my cortisol levels are through the fucking roof.

Don’t speak to me, don’t ask me questions.

Stop reminding me of the fact that I’m not okay.

Stop making me lie about how I’m focusing on the wrong things and I’m not actually looking after myself.

Stop making me gloss over the fact that what I am doing isn’t self-care, because I’m driven by persistent feelings of shame and self-loathing.

You don’t want to hear me say that I think I’m ugly and I hate what I see in the mirror.

You don’t want me to get dark and morbid about how I want to erase the old me and start again.

What if I told you that I’m getting Botox because I feel empty and worthless?

What if I said actually, I wish I never existed and I’ve found a way to make that happen without taking my own life?

Looking after myself, my arse.

The Minister

This is not a story about god or religion.

I want to write about my old boss, a beautiful human being and my first ever mentor.

This man is a Minister. His church and his congregation saved my life.

I’ll never forget the first day I met him, the day of my job interview. Tragically, my interview was on the day after my aunties funeral.

(She took her own life)

I was in pieces that day and by some miracle I got the job. I was relieved because I was so broke and needed to find a part time job to fit around university.

I was desperate to make enough money and save up for a deposit so I can move out of my grandmothers house.

The mad house, as I used to call it.

Little did I know at the time – just how much of a blessing this was. A few months into the job I was suddenly made homeless because I was being threatened with violence.

A couple of my cousins were after my blood.

It all started one night at my cousins house. She got deliriously drunk and tried to strangle her 8 year old son. I was stone cold sober and was able to stop her.

We managed to escape from the back door of her house. My cousin then called the police and told them I had abducted her child.

The police found us standing in the street. It was pissing it down and we were in our bare feet waiting for a taxi.

They picked us up for questioning and her son disclosed that his mother tried to strangle him, and I confirmed his story.

As a result of this incident, my cousin and her sister decided I was in the wrong and told my grandmother they were going to kill me.

It wasn’t safe for me to stay with my grandmother anymore.

I reached out to the Minister and he arranged for one of the congregation members to give me a place to stay – and I am eternally grateful for that.

I am seriously convinced that if I hadn’t got that job and I hadn’t worked for the Minister I would be dead or in jail right now.

I’m serious.

At one point I ended up in A&E nearly dead, in need of an emergency operation and blood transfusion.

On top of all this, I was such a lost soul at the time, so young and absolutely clueless.

This was pre-ADHD diagnosis so I was broke, unstable, un-medicated, historically unable to hold down a job and just barely keeping my head above water.

My minister was more than just a boss – he was my first mentor and at the time, the only person in my entire life who saw my potential and invested in me.

He inspired me and taught me what I needed to know about life and my own abilities so I could dig myself out of rock-bottom.

He had “unconditional positive regard” for me and everyone he met.

Such a legend.

He emailed me today and asked me where I was on “my journey”. I responded straight away, but I reframed the dark stuff. I disclosed all the recent traumatic events with a positive spin.

I wasn’t as honest and raw as I am here on this blog. It didn’t feel necessary.

I thought about posting a redacted version of my response but I decided against it in the end.

Primed for Abuse

Here’s the thing. I have a bit of a track record for falling in love with abusive men.

I’m vulnerable, sure.

An easy target and “primed for abuse”, as they say.

But why?

What makes me so vulnerable?

I’m pretty fucking sure a messed up upbringing might have something to do with it.

Here goes…

My upbringing was profoundly oppressive – thanks to both parents – and living in the Middle East.

I am the only daughter to an Iranian man and a Scottish woman.

My father is the typical “Middle Eastern Father” stereotype, moody, unable to show affection, over protective, controlling and impossible to please.

The only time my father made eye contact with me was when he was lashing out at me.

He is a complex man. All the ways he primed me for abuse is a struggle for me to put it into words at the moment.

So for now I’ll say that he taught me to accept the “darker” side of masculinity.

The result of having a father like him is that I am mainly attracted to men that really, fucking scare me.

Moving on!

My mother was brought up by her militant, catholic grandmother.

She is neurotic, self-loathing, completely oblivious to her own internalised misogyny. The head-fuckery which she was proud to pass on to me as her “teachings” – so that one day I might become a good wife.

My mother has all kinds of mental illnesses that moulded me to who I am today.

The stories about her are disturbing and I am building up the courage to share them one day.

I digress.

Some of the things she taught me were things like – all men are evil and that woman-hood is nothing but suffering.

As a result of having a mother like her I feel worthless, ugly, fat, unlovable and a failure as a woman.

As well as being controlled and abused by both parents, I grew up as a second class citizen.

I lived in the Islamic Republic of Iran for 7 years, from the age of 12 to 19 years old and the experience for me, a teenage girl was totally unbearable.

I could write endlessly about the injustices for women and girls living in Iran, and I will get round to it…

(Spoiler: I ran away from home, got back to to the UK and was homeless for a while)

I know there are people who are far worse off than me…but looking at the shitty cards I was dealt, it’s obvious that I never stood a chance in love and relationships.

I lost the game before it even started – right?

The second date sucked

The last time I posted about dating, I was excited and optimistic about having met someone new.

We waited a month to have our second date because he was overseas on holiday but we were texting a lot and I can sincerely say that we had an amazing connection.

However, to put it bluntly, the second date was a total fucking disaster.

Idecided very early on in the second date that I didn’t fancy him anymore…but I ignored my feelings and tried to make it work.

He wasn’t very talkative, quite shy so I worked quite hard to avoid it being awkward.

I got drunk and tried to have a nice time. the rest of the night is a blur. Of the bits I can remember, I would rather forget,

To say that the overall experience disappointing would be the kindest thing I could say.

I woke up in my bed, with him lying next to me. I had a stinking hangover and felt totally repulsed.

I dragged myself out of bed and had a shower. Whilst in the shower I continued to ignore my feelings and convinced myself that I could turn it around.

I convinced myself that it would be a good idea to continue the date. So I drove us to this cute place in town for a “romantic” breakfast.

It really wasn’t.

Much like last night, he wasn’t talkative and I tried my best to fill the silence with nice things like admiring the decor but eventually I gave up on it.

My next move was to get him back to his car which was parked at my house so we could say our goodbyes – but he didn’t leave – he followed me into my house.

I didn’t know what to do.

I made us a cup of tea and I told him that at some point I will need to get going because I had lots of errands and things to do.

He said “okay”, then took his shoes off and made himself very comfortable on my couch.

We watched a couple of episodes of The Spy on Netflix – which I thought will bore the fuck out of him (political dramas are not his bag) but he persevered.

Finally I plucked up the courage, got up from the couch and said, “okay that’s it now – I have stuff to do so I’m going to load my car with stuff for the recycling station”.

I took the loads to my car and then with my keys in my hand I said to him, “right I have to go now” and he said “okay, do you need any help?” and I told him that I’m meeting a friend who is helping me.

“Okay” he said. He turned and continued watching the TV.

I started trembling and I abruptly told him “you need to leave now!”.

He was apologetic and left the house with me, we hugged, he got in his car and instead of driving off, he just sat there.

Wtf?

So, I’m still trembling at this point as I back my car out of the drive – I could see him in his car just staring at me as I drive off.

He made me feel so anxious and uncomfortable but I can’t be angry at him because I don’t think it’s his fault.

It’s my own fault. I should be angry at myself for ignoring my feelings.

I should be angry that I didn’t kick him out sooner. I was the one who let the date continue to the point where I felt trapped and anxious about telling him to leave.

You could say that I led him on but it’s more complicated than that.

I honestly thought I liked him – but none of it was true…it was all in my head.

The truth is, I totally deluded myself.

I made myself believe that I liked him and that I fancied him. When it wasn’t going well I tried to force the situation and it didn’t end well.

I think I did this because I was so lonely, because I desperately want a boyfriend.

The second date was a complete shit show and I only have myself to blame.

I’m feel so ashamed and disgusted with myself.

I’m such a fucking mess.