Oliva. Twenty Two.
Sydney, Australia.
♬ Music Theatre Graduate.

In 'recovery' from:
· Suicide Attempts (Overdose)
· Rape
· Chronic PTSD
· Non-Purging Bulimia
· Major Depression
· Self-Harm (Cutting)
↳Weapon of choice: razor/scalpel
· Perfectionism
· Abortion

Psychiatric Ward Admissions: 4
Total Hospitalised Days: 117

I'm so used to talking about the intimate details of my life to psychotherapists, psychiatrists, psychologists, counselors, mental health nurses or doctors suturing my wrists, that it hardly seems strange to be divulging this to an internet full of strangers.

This blog is about things that make sense on the inside, when they don't on the outside. I think too much, I indulge in my flaws and I'll stand up for justice until it ruins me.

These are literally the pages of my diary. I do not post to glorify any part of my 'illness', behaviour or experiences, rather to seek comfort and support from those who understand, and perhaps can guide me on the path of recovery. I actively encourage all those suffering to seek treatment as I have.
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There are times when I think I would collapse into a million tears if I had the right shoulder to cry on; but these moments never occur when I have the opportunity, and instead when my eyes close away all distractions and the darkness opens my mind.

So am I the only one who cried the entire way through reading ‘The Lovely Bones’ or…?

Mum: "Maybe we could have dinner here after your graduation and invite the godparents and some of your friends."
Me: ...what friends?

(Source: brutalgeneration)

First day back at Therapy for the year. Why do I feel as though she thinks I do not need to be there?

I am an active volcano, mistaken as dormant by the villagers only because of the absence of an ash cloud shrouding my mountain. The fertile earth from the previous eruption years ago yields a plethora of greenery that create the facade that I am thriving. I just need a courageous volcanologist to travel up to my crater and peer down into my depths to see the thin, fragile layer of rock holding down tumultuous fiery lava. 

I need a therapist with an axe to break down my layers and help fix the cracks in my core.

This morning at my job with the choir, my boss dropped in unannounced to evaluate my teaching! Upon seeing her hovering at the doorway I literally lost my breath with nerves. 

Between the two classes she was absolutely glowing with praise, calling me a ‘textbook teacher’, a term she said she hardly ever uses.

I’m glad she didn’t warn me she was coming in a way, because now she knows I didn’t plan a lesson particularly to impress her, and that every lesson is of the quality she observed.

I spent the rest of the day brimming with joy. Despite teaching for over a year now I’m still crippled with self-doubt. Her words as someone I trust, respect and look up to, were exactly the boost of confidence I so desperately needed, but didn’t know I did until today.

March! The month slips away from me because the week slips away from me because the days slip away from me.

Thursdays I leave class five minutes early to go straight to work. I eat on the train. I arrive home late and then it’s time for bed. Up at 5:45am the next day to start uni all over again.

Friday fast becomes Thursday again and then we start all over. I’m on a roller coaster that doesn’t pause for breath!

Full time uni, two jobs and rehearsal. Inanimate concepts steal my days. 

A word, a sentence, a paragraph or an essay. I should never again let either business or laziness keep me from writing about my day. I don’t want to lose any more days. And I don’t want to let the fact I have already lost days, keep me from losing more.

Word Of The Day: Keep

I’m choosing to ignore the fact that it was after watching a movie depicting anorexia that I finally went running again for the first time this year since January 1st.

With no music to distract me I was confronted by the concept of being stuck inside my head for a full half an hour. Usually negative self talk (screams?) plays mind games and prevents me from powering onwards. Music usually drowns the hatred, or at least deafens it a little. But instead of music, today a word played over and over in my ear.

Keep going.
Keep running.
You know you can do it because you are doing it.
(You know you can starve because you have already done it.)
All you have to do now is keep going.

On the last leg of my run, the storm finally broke and cool rain cut through the muggy air. I turned my face towards the heavens.