nothing.

I don't really believe in fate, but today, everything happened to convince me that what I'm planning to do is necessary. Every bit of hope I had just went.

At 3pm I emailed Lauren in HR asking if a decision had been reached about my job application and interview. I said I assumed I hadn't been successful as I hadn't heard anything and just wanted confirmation. She left it an hour before replying and when she did, just said 'Martha will let you know on Monday. Have a lovely weekend'. She either has no heart or no imagination. How could I possibly have a good weekend when I'd have job worries hanging over me? I assumed from that reply that I hadn't got the job. As it turned out, I was right. Just checked my work email and Mithu had emailed me (a very nice email as it turned out) and said they had been doing final interviews today and that no, I hadn't been successful.

Why they couldn't have let me know earlier in the week that I hadn't been selected I don't know. Wouldn't have taken much to drop a quick line to put me out of my misery.

Barbara was apparently thinking about letting me cover for Jade while she was away on maternity leave. It wouldn't be ideal but would have given me a bit more responsibility and got me doing more interesting things and probably have lifted my spirits a little. However, it seems that I am not good enough for this either because Charlie is going to cover for Jade in her absence instead. It is quite obvious to me therefore that no one has any faith in me to do any kind of job. As soon as Charlie made it known he was moving over to cover for Jade I just thought 'so that's it then. I really have nothing left'.

I have reached the stage now that I am just too fucking tired with this all now. There really is no point to anything. I am just a waste of space.

Analu was annoyed at me today too because of the time I had my lunch (3pm). She complained about it to Vanessa, so V emailed me to check up on me, wanting to check that I was at lunch rather than just not working. It hurt me that she even thought that of me, but it just further demonstrates to me how people see me now.

On the bus home I thought about what would happen if I'm not successful with this suicide attempt. I suppose it will mean that Paul and I will split up. There's only so much one person can take, isn't there?

He says he loves me, but I don't really believe it anymore. It's not that I think he's just saying it, I just can't quite see how he can possibly love me when there is nothing to love about me. Especially when I think about his other female friends who are much more suitable for him: much prettier, a lot more stable, good jobs, nearer his age, etc. etc. There isn't really anything I bring to this relationship apart from making him miserable and staying at home all the time and self-harming.

I really don't think I deserve him at all. We're on such different levels, and if I'm honest, he's way out of my league. So yes, I suppose if I do survive this, that will be the end for us.

I've thought about not doing this, of course. I've thought about gritting my teeth and carrying on and pretending everything is OK. And I've thought about coming clean and telling someone how I'm feeling - but in either scenario, nothing is ultimately going to change. If I tell someone about my suicidal intention, they won't be interested because I haven't done anything at that point and therefore don't believe me, or it will seem like I'm doing it for attention.

I nearly told Paul when I got home today. I was bracing myself as I was walking up the stairs to come in looking cheery but as I'd spent most of the day attempting to hide the fact I'd been crying (sniffing down the phone to customers, unable to look anyone in the eye, lip biting etc probably just made me sound and look like a total wimp today haha). So yes, I really tried but was so relieved to see him when I got in, I just burst into tears. I thought I should just tell him then, but I just couldn't bring myself to. And it wouldn't change anything, anyway.

I feel so strange. It feels like something has just taken over my thoughts these past few weeks. Ever since I made the decision to do what I'm going to have to do, I feel totally out of myself, like I'm watching myself from a distance. What a freak.

Oh god, what am I doing? I'm bringing this all on myself, I know.

It's funny how everything comes crashing down all at once.

apathy.

It's now been officially two working days since I had my internal job interview at SAGE. It is now VERY unlikely that I've passed the first stage. More likely that I'll hear back in a few days' time with a 'thank you but...' in which case I have to continue with my 'alternative' plan.

Keep trying to find things which will convince me to change my mind and not go through with it, but there is nothing. I seem to be swamped in bad luck. What's the point in even trying anymore?

I've been so nervous about what I have to do that I've had a dodgy stomach for over a week. Anyone else (a rational, sane person that is) would have decided not to go through with it, and chose to stubbornly cling to life. I cannot do this. I'm too tired to try these days, it seems.

Rationale

I'm not quite sure what to do. On the surface, it appears that I have 'returned' to my normal, bubbly self. Inside, the opposite is true. I was awake most of last night with recurring thoughts and plans of suicide. This pattern has been increasing in the past two weeks and I feel that the time for action is getting nearer. The thing is, I don't see any alternative to what I'm planning to do. It simply has to be done. My anxiety for the consequences of this action has reached an all time high and I've been having stomach trouble for days as a result. I keep telling myself that I don't have to do this, it doesn't have to be done at all. There are ways round things, there is always hope. But I cannot see it.

To me, the events of this coming week will dictate my actions. It is literally a life or death situation. I doubt anyone will ever understand the rationale behind this, because, to anyone else, the reasoning sounds inherently disturbed. But the thing is,

I do not like myself. I will never make a success of my life. I am a failure. I am a waste of space. No one wants to employ me, my qualifications, my education has been an utter waste. There is nothing I am good at. I look around at people around me, my sister, Paul, my friends, my family.... they are all successful. They have made something of their lives. They have established their careers, they are successful. I am not any of these things, nor will be. This is why I must do this. It is too humiliating to live like a nobody any longer. Anyone who places such importance and pride in their work and their job will understand this: they are something, they are successful. They have made something of their lives. I never will.

There is no one I can talk to about this. I cannot possibly talk to my closest friends. They'd do anything to stop me doing what I am planning, and they would worry. I don't want that. There is no point in telling them. I just have to do it, when the moment is right. If there ever is such a time.

I don't think as it stands I have enough tablets. I need to buy some during the week. One packet per shop, that will work. And alcohol from another. I am terrified, but I feel there is no alternative. No alternative that is, if events this week turn out to confirm my fears. So I must wait and see.

This decision I have made also confirms that I am a bad person. Evil, selfish, bad. Because I know my actions will hurt a lot of people, those who love me. But I just cannot bear to live like this anymore. I think I am inherently disturbed. If so, I am doing everyone a favour.

Diagnosis and what it means to me.

I have decided, for reasons best known to my 'better self' to begin documenting my new journey on the well-trodden path of the Borderline Personality Disorder diagnosis.

It is highly likely that before long, this blog will be filled with self-obsessed, irrelevant rantings as I'm so often apt to do when setting hands to keyboard. I discovered my Live Journal err, journal the other day - one I used regularly when I was 17, and continued to blog throughout my university days.

It does not make for pleasant reading. On the one hand, it's full of your run-of-the-mill teenage angst, and on the other, it's rather disturbing. Looking back, it was obvious then I had borderline personality even then. Any casual observer (should they happen to drop by) can see that my dramatic and frequent changes in mood, life outlook and for want of a better word, impulsivity, indicate the presence of a Borderline Disorder.

How I wish I had known then what I know now. I researched every mental health disorder I could think of (or so I thought), I self-diagnosed, self-tested, analysed, observed. I had Schizophrenia, Bipolar, Munchausen's, OCD. But not once did I, nor any other professional for that matter, give me the diagnosis I craved.

It's taken me twelve years of obvious symptoms to reach this diagnosis. Not one of my therapists spotted it before. Or if they did, they hid it very well.

I suppose the time it took to diagnose is irrelevant, given that now I 'have' it and I am shortly to undergo some kind of therapy. Maybe it was down to the simple fact that mental health professionals simply could not see me outside of my disability. I can't help thinking that should someone - able-bodied - present to a psychiatrist with exactly the same symptoms, feelings and experiences that I had, a diagnosis would be immediate. Yet, because I was put under the 'further complications' category it was almost like they could not see the symptoms that were right in front of them.

Maybe there is something in that. You cannot, afterall, isolate a person's mental health from their life experiences. But to belittle or write off any prevailing symptoms as a result is surely missing the mark. Yes, I probably did develop BPD as a result of my disability, and therefore the experiences that went with it, but that's not to say that because I am disabled, I cannot, therefore have a mental health problem too, or logically, as a direct result.

Sometimes, when talking to therapists about my feelings, the response would sometimes be 'ah but that is quite normal. You are bound to feel X, Y, or Z because long-term hospitalisation does that to people. It's psychological.' And thus they failed to see their own logic. I could not possibly have X or Y a disorder, because, given the situation, anyone would have reacted in the way I did. It was 'understandable'. Well, isn't that the point?

So here I am, at Stage 1. I don't even know if anyone will be reading this as I progress along my treatment journey. Not that I'm so arrogant as to assume my blog would be of interest to anyone else, so maybe I'm journeying alone. But isn't that the same for everyone?

Note to self: Your first entry is utter rubbish. It's unstructured, badly written and reads like a self-obsessed err, narcissist. Do better next time.