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Originally posted on behindthemaskofabuse:

I know what I want to blog about today, but trying to get it from my brain to this post, has proven to be somewhat of a precarious process.

It means admitting to still having a battle I would rather not have. I know that I’m not alone. I know that talking about it, brings it to light rather than allowing it to hide in the shadows. I want to educate a bit in the process, so here it goes.

I still struggle with the urge to self-harm. I still do to a degree.

There I said it. Annnd breathe…

I learned yesterday in therapy that self-harm is actually an addiction. It made sense to me, because I actually feel a pull to it. The longer I ignore the pull, the stronger it gets. When I give in, there is relief.

I can’t even tell you how long self-harmhas been a…

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In my Heart Home


As I explained a few posts ago, my connection to England runs very very deep. I am now there and intend to enjoy every second. So many people here came into my path at times when there was trauma going on and smoothed the way for me, many without even realizing it. The vast majority of these people are still with me and have continued to love me flaws and all. I look forward to spending time or at least chatting on the phone with as many of them as i can. 

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The countdown continues


A week from this coming thursday, I will be winging my way to England again. I’m really looking forward to seeing my friends again, but not at all looking forward to the flight there and the flight back. That’s not because I’m afraid of flying, but rather because under normal circumstances, I use a hydraulic lift to transfer anywhere I need to, and I won’t be able to do that when boarding the plane and coming off the plane in both places. That means I will have to literally be physically lifted instead, and the thought absolutely terrifies me. All I can say is thank goodness for xanax because you can bet I’ll be taking it on both flights. 

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Upcoming trip back to the place I consider my Heart Home

On the third of next month, I’ll be making a return trip back to England after five and a half years. England has always been special to me. So special in fact, that I consider England to be my Heart Home, So, what exactly IS a heart home? A heart home is a place where, though you may not have been born and bred there, you might just as well have been because it’s the place where you feel most comfortable and at peace. For me, that’s what England is. There are many reasons why, but one of the main ones is that I’ve always felt a connection to it ever since I was a very little girl and watched Princess Diana marry Prince Charles, That connection has continued to stay with me, and it has continued to grow stronger over these many years, as each friend that I have over there has taken me into their hearts and cared for me as if I were a member of their own family. Given that my relationship with most of the members of my family of origin has been strained to say the least. the connections I have with my friends in England are doubly precious.

It is also important that I return there because as some of you know, I lost my father almost two years ago now, and many of the people I’m going to be seeing on my trip are people that were with me from the time of his stroke and eventual cancer diagnosis through to the end and beyond. Emotionally, I’ve not fully recovered, and I may never fully recover from the loss of my father, but I’m hoping that by the time I return from my trip, I’ll at least have my feet back under me a bit.

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Dear society/the media, please leave my body alone.

Originally posted on Fighting the Abuse:

Warning: this girl is in rant mode. ;-)

I am currently drinking a bottle of coke. As a matter of protest, actually. It was a choice between coke and red bull, and mostly I need red bull. (zzzzz fibro flare up, grim chesty cough and headache and no sleep, zzzzz) but I opted for coke instead. This one bottle is 5% of my daily recommended calorie intake but at current state of play it probably will account for 75% at least of calorie intake of today. 0% fat (really?) but 28% of my recommended daily sugar intake. Not too bad?

But oho. Read the small print. Those percentages are based on a 250ml bottle and this bottle is 500ml. (again, really?!) So actually, there’s over 200 calories in this drink, and over 50% of my daily recommended sugar intake. Currently relying on sugar to live, I don’t really mind. Calorie count?…

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Please help no amount is too small…

Originally posted on behindthemaskofabuse:

I want to welcome one of my friends from the wonderful world of blogging Merry. Merry is from over at http://knockedoverbyafeather.wordpress.com  She did a blog post recently that broke my heart. A small part of the reason I felt her pain is that I’ve been there on more than one occasion, and any help that I got was both a gift and painful at the same time.  I welcome Merry to share her story. The link to help is at the bottom.
Hi. Some of you know me from WordPress. I started blogging in October of 2012 because my therapist at the time thought it would be a good idea for me to write about my struggle with depression. I named it Knocked over by a Feather, which had come from a comment made by my husband. We had just gotten married a short time earlier, on September 26, 2009. Life…

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Comparing my experience to other’s experience


Some, if not all of you know what I experienced as a child. I’ve struggled, and very much continue to struggle with comparing my experience with what has happened to others. I know intellectually that I shouldn’t compare my experience with abuse to other’s experiences, but for some reason I can’t get what my head knows to connect with my heart and emotions. While I don’t question that what happened to me was in fact abuse, when I hear about or read other’s stories about what their experience with abuse was, I often say to myself: “This makes what happened to me look tame in comparison.” Or something similar. Many have said to me that no experience is more valid than anyone else’s and again, I know this to be true on an intellectual level, but cannot get it to resonate with me on an emotional level. I also know without a doubt that this is something I need to work on, but I’m unsure how to go about stopping myself from making comparisons between mine and other’s abuse experiences. Any suggestions would be welcomed. 


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