I am only just beginning to realise that there are a whole world of things that you can only fully understand, once you've been through them yourself - insomnia being one of them.

Pressure behind my eyes feels like it's forcing my eyelids open. It's frustrating and boring and I just know that at about 10/11am, I'm going to feel awful and not cope well. I feel horribly clear right at this moment - it's the kind of clarity I've been hoping to have during the day.

It's 5.50am - I don't think there's much point in trying to go to sleep now - if I did, I'd only have to get up in 2 hours and feel shitty. I might as well have a shower and go in now - at least I can get away at 3pm. And, to think, I was worried about oversleeping!

How silly is this - I called the samaritans an hour ago - as I told 'Simon' it was my first time, I could hear him thinking "that's what they all say". My half hour call ended up making me feel guilty for not feeling suicidal - Simon and I discussed the fact that I realistically could be blocking the lines for someone who is suicidal. I don't think I could handle more death on my conscience. Hmm - interesting thought. How stupid is it that I feel guilty for talking to someone who specifically volunteers to be talked to?

Beautiful caffeine will be my friend for today.

This is a poem I wrote a few years back. It describes very well how I felt and often still feel about myself: Un-me.

Tired and lonely,
seeking a hideaway.
What I’d give to be
the better version of me
that is Her.

Grace, elegance, poise -
None of which I possess
haunt me to a state of despair,
the noises under the glare
of the lack of attention.

I’m in control?
Or maybe I’m not?
The drug I use to regulate
hurts with the daily hate
of a lack of will power.

I’m sorry I’m not who I am –
Who I want to be.
Which is anyone other than
Nice, calm, reliable and above all,
Good old me.

As I seem to be emerging from my haze of depression, I can start to finally see my illness clearly. Now that I am taking medication, it begins to feel like a tangible problem to tackle. My family have finally been able to start putting it out in the open, able to tell other family members what I have been (inadvertantly) putting them through for the last 8 years.

8 years. That's a long time to have felt this way. To hate oneself so completely that I have actually felt that I have deserved to go through self-harm; starvation; bullimia; an overdose & an abortion.

I cannot let this continue. With my increased vulnerability to pre&post-natal depression and even just bog-standard depression, I cannot let myself feel this way again. I do deserve more than this - and this is exactly what I am beginning to realise.