#5, #29, #30, #49, #58, #79, #111.

#5 Get a part-time job
#29 Go out socially and don’t have an alcoholic drink
#30 Lose 6lb of weight
#49 Buy a leather jacket
#58 Bounce on a bouncy castle
#79 Learn to iron
#111 Give blood


So, I have been busy! Seven things ticked off in the matter of a month. The most rewarding thing is probably giving blood. It’s something that I’ve wanted to do for years and years but due to medication, tattoos or piercings I’ve been unable too. For those who are nervous about it, there really isn’t anything to be nervous about. I highly recommend doing it if you can … for those of you in the UK clicking here will take you through to the different blood donation clinics nearest to yourself. :)

You may notice that I mentioned the fact that I secured a part-time job in my last post. I’ve actually secured a second part-time job which is a lot more suited to myself, working in a pub with more flexible hours and shift rotation so I’ve sacked the first job off. Not bad being able to tick something twice off of the bucket list.

To be honest, I don’t have much to say at the moment. I’m feeling good. College starts exactly a week today. Money issues are slowly sorting themselves out. Lets do this September.


Three months and one day …

Before reading, it should be noted that this may contain “triggering” language and reference to drug use.

#5 Get a part-time job
#109 Don’t date for three months

It’s exactly thee months and one day since it was my Grandads funeral. It’s also three months and one day since ex last said he loved me. Coincidentally it’s three months and one day since the last time myself and him spoke. Which means it’s three months and one day since his Step-Dad turned up at my door unannounced and dumped me on behalf of ex before proceeding to throw all my belongings across the street. As you can imagine, that was quite a day.

I thought yesterday would be harder than it was but in truth, I didn’t really think about it. I know three months isn’t a standard marker in terms of time really but it coincided with my “Don’t date for three months” goal which is why it stood out in my mind in the build up to the date. I can’t quite believe how much has changed in my life since then. Three months ago I had a long term relationship, we were looking at buying a house with, I had a job and thought I was happy. Now I’m employed part-time (!!!!), going to college in September and feel refreshed, sprightly and also a little bit wiser.

When I was dumped in, what I’d personally describe, as a cowardly manner I thought my world had ended. Like someone (read his Step-Dad) had pulled the carpet from under my feet.

I knew I wasn’t 100% happy with him. He didn’t drink enough for my liking/I drank too much for his liking. He didn’t like to dance, not evening at weddings?!?! Seriously, who doesn’t dance at weddings? Even my eighty year old Grandma was side stepping to Sex on Fire. He didn’t agree that dogs should be allowed on sofas and beds. He gambled a lot (although I must admit he won a lot as well). He liked bingo too much. He was highly critical of my family and would happily slag them off; even though a party at his house was like wheeling the best of Jeremy Kyle cast out and plonking them in-front of a karaoke machine. It a nutshell, their parties were awful; one ended in a full scale street row. His Mum hated me. He didn’t have an amazing personality and faded into the background, which was a shock as prior to him my other ex was the lead singer of a band and spent his whole time trying to get people to pay him attention.

On the flip-side he knew all about my ridiculous mental health past. He would look at the 8″ scars on my legs and get visibly upset that I could do that to myself, even though I did them long before he came on the scene. He’d stand up for me on holiday when people would take one look at my gnarled thighs and judge me. He took me to therapy when required and would drive me all over the show just so I wouldn’t hurt myself again. He came to my hospital bed side and sat with me on the occasions when I’d swallowed 100’s of tablets on little more than a whim. He made everything alright after I tried to hang myself on my first day on the psych ward. He even sat in my house with my parents, whilst the police ransacked it because I’d run off and hidden myself in the big outside world. He answered their probing questions and waited whilst the police were looking for me, when the police helicopter was on standby. I wasn’t hurt or lying in a ditch somewhere (although I did sleep on a bench one night). I was in a dingy bedsit snorting coke with my ex boyfriend, trying to escape my own mind. He put up with an absolute, excuse the French, fuck load.

I was too capricious for him. My inability to save and my ability to spend money on anything and everything drove him mad. I was too unruly. He was the grown up even though he was two years younger. He was born middle aged really, an old head on a young heart. Meanwhile, I was still desperately trying to cling onto my youth. The times when I did what I wanted, when I wanted and had so much fun and danced the night away. Before all the depression and crap got in the way. Although we were so perfect at times, 20% of the time we were polar opposites and both too stubborn to back down.

Before I met him, as ridiculous as it sounds, my mental health issues were my identity. I spent a full 365 days concentrating on my issues. Whether I was locked up on a psychiatric ward or having intensive day therapy or being indulged whilst people wrote ten page reports on me. Everything was me, me, me. If I were sad, I’d hurt myself because it made me feel better. My family hurt with me but became numb to it, angry and furious at times for what I was doing. When I met him, on our first date, I told him everything. I had too really. I’d had to put off our first date because I’d been in hospital for five days being operated on and stitched up since my encounter with a sharp object. I gave him the choice to run before we’d even shared our first kiss. He didn’t. In my head, that meant that not only was he accepting me, he was accepting this extra bit of me. This crazy bit which was like a backpack that I carried around. On a normal day, it didn’t even come into the equation but on other days all this stuff would come flooding out of it like Mary Poppins bag, bringing a load of pain and heartache with it.

In truth, although he did the dumping (in a roundabout manner), I destroyed us. I resented him for not being able to move on the way I did once I’d been discharged from hospital. It annoyed me that he’d constantly be on egg shells wondering if I was going to do anything, despite the fact I told him I was fine. Forgetting in the past I had said I was fine and next thing I was slashing at myself. The fact is, I couldn’t let go of my self-harming ways. If I stopped and let go of that part of me and then he hurt me, what would I have to fall back on? I’d have to sit and cry and grieve in the normal way. I couldn’t do that. Letting myself cry and grieve and be normal, to me, made me think I was going to sink into a deep depression and I’d do anything not to go back there. It all got too much for him that I couldn’t just be sad “normally”, I couldn’t stop destroying me, destroying him, my family and ultimately us.

Ironically, since he dumped me, I refused to self-harm and I haven’t. I’ve wanted too. I’ve not. If I did, I’d feel like he’d won (yeah, even I don’t understand my thoughts at times). I’ve drank a bit too much at times and self-medicated with a cocktail of drugs but to me that’s not proper self-harm (although I have neglected to tell me psych about those evenings). I’ve come off my anti-depressant after ten years, not through choice but due to medical recommendation and I’ve refused the alternative they’ve offered me. In truth, I’ve done everything that he ever wanted me to do, everything he wished for but he’s not here to see it.

Now I’m trying to make something of my life. I’ve thought for too long that making something of me, was as simple as “getting better” (debatable whether you ever truly “get better” from BPD but that’s another discussion). The breakup has taught me that I can get “as better” as I want but what do I have at the end of it? My life, yes, which has hung in the balance more than once but what else? Now I might be single and away from a boy that I truly did love (but not as much as I loved myself, evidently) but I have plans, dreams and aspirations … I’ve never had that in my life. The biggest plan I used to make was to work out how much money I had, how many cranberry and vodkas it would buy me, what takeaway I could get at the end of the night and how many people would I need to convince to get in my taxi to make sure I could afford to get home.

On paper, the past three months have been a disaster. I lost him. My Grandad died. My Nana had a fall which has knocked her confidence. My Great Auntie has terminal cancer. I got sacked. I’ve not worked since May. I had to come off anti-depressants in the space of two weeks. I’ve been living on £70/week. But you know what, the past three months has taught me more about myself, made me grow up and made me more optimistic than I’ve ever been before and now I am going to make something of myself, as opposed to just “getting better”. I guess for that, I have to thank him.

N.B. Although, I will let it be noted that I’ll never forgive him for the way he dumped me, and I’ll never let him know that he was right. I mean, I am a girl after all ….



Accepting what’s happened.

#20 Get into College
#55 Volunteer somewhere
#80 Redecorate my bedroom


The list has been updated! It’s something that I’ve been wanting to do for a while but I had been putting it off. I feel like I’ve finally accepted that my life has changed beyond comprehension. If you had asked me exactly three months ago where I saw my life heading … it wasn’t in this direction. Am I happy though? I guess so. Lonely? Yes. Excited? Yes. Scared? Yes. Depressed? No!

Don’t get me wrong, it’s hard at times. Really hard. I’ve had a moan in the past about it but single life, for me, isn’t the ideal life. At the moment, I feel like I’m treading water. I took the above picture on a day out with the dog. Reflecting on it, I feel a bit like the boat at the moment. Alone but everything is calm around me, sunny and on the whole not too bad. I’m just waiting for September and then it’s going to be like someone pressing fast forward in my life, everything starts in September. Starting college, volunteering more, hopefully working part-time, my younger brother starting University and potentially leaving home and even scattering my Grandads ashes which we’ve held onto since April. In truth, I’m not sure there’s going to be time (or money!) to have a significant other. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’ll be really lonely for me. We’ll see. Lets hope that the boat doesn’t get too rocked.

Going back to the list, when I say I’ve changed it, there’s not really much that’s changed. I’ve taken out the things relating to my old job: being made permanent; earning a bonus; walking up the stairs more. Non of that is relevant any more.

I’ve cheated slightly, I guess. I’ve added in #20 Get into College even though I know I have already got in unconditionally. It’s something that has been on the list for a while now but I just hadn’t updated the “official list”. My list. My rules. What does this mean though? It means that come September I’ll be starting college and studying towards a career in Social Work! It’s going to be hard. As it’s not university I don’t fit the criteria for any financial support or student loans, despite it being classed as a full time further education course. As a result, I’m going to have to find part-time work to fit around it but finding part-time work has been a bit of a struggle recently … you’ll see that that’s appeared on the list as the new #5.

I’ve also ticked two other things off my list. The most enjoyable was #55 Volunteer somewhere. It’s something I’ll dedicate a full post too one day but I’ve got my finger in a few pies at the moment with various charities and safe to say, I’m loving it! The other, which is the most satisfying: #80 Redecorate my bedroom. Myself and him decorated it last time and it just held a few memories that were better not being around. In truth, there’s not too much you can do when you live in a Harry Potter sized box room but I’ve moved the furniture round, added a nice new wallpaper and had a good clear out. It feels fresh.


I’m aware that this is what some would class as a boring entry. There’s a few things I’ve wanted to write about but updating the list was the most poignant for me and it needed to be done. To all my friends reading this, thanks for just being there. I know a lot of you have your own battles at the moment but the fact you still manage to make time for me means the world. I might have no money at the moment and I might not be able to see you as much as I’d love too but when things get sorted, financially and all that, I’ll see you x

Musings Part 1: My “Problem Illness” and what it means to me.

When does a bit of a snuffle turn into full blown flu? When do you soldier on and drag yourself into work and when do you call in sick? There appears to be no tangible line, no one set rule that everyone lives by. It’s a grey area. There may be a conversation in the staffroom, people rolling their eyes and comments such as “Sandra’s off sick again. She’s only got a bit of a cold.” Meanwhile, other people will defend her. “Oh I don’t know, she looked a bit pale when she was leaving yesterday night and you should of heard her cough and sneezing in the girls toilets, the poor lamb.”. There appears to be no set marker as to when someone is ill and someone is ill, well at least not in cases like the above. This is where a lot of people stand with depression and other mental health problems. We’ve all been a bit sad, we’ve all said something along the lines of “I’m going to kill myself!” as another bit of paperwork lands on our desk and we’ve all lacked motivation and languished in bed all day. At one time or another, I bet that the majority of people have let their imagination run away with themselves, having grandiose delusions that one day we’ll be running the company and we can tell our manager just where to stick it. So when do those thoughts turn into something more sinister? Where does the line lie between being “normal” and being “ill”?

It’s something that I’ve thought about often over the course of my life. I’ve had no “real” problems, everything I’ve encountered has been run of the mill, everyday “normal” people’s problems. I look at people I know who have battled cancer, sometimes winning and sometimes losing. Friends who have lost their parents before they have the chance to celebrate their fiftieth birthdays. A family member who has lived with brain tumours for 20+ years and despite pushing ninety is the first one up line dancing at any party. Her sister who went in for a routine hip replacement and ended up finding out that she was riddled with cancer but still managing to be the most cheerful person you can imagine, even when her face gives away the pain she is in. People who have fought and fought their bodies for years at a time, just in order to be able to live a “normal” life. My beautiful auntie and uncle who buried one son at the age of fourteen due to a road accident, followed years later by their fifty year old son who was profoundly disabled and lived his life as a six month old baby. So, what is a “problem”. Again, there is no real answer. Some people don’t see a problem, they see a challenge. Others, not a problem but a question. For many, a problem is something they have to face whether they like it or not. dictionary.com describes a problem as “Any question or matter involving doubt, uncertainty, or difficulty.”. As an adjective it can be described as difficult to train or guide; unruly: a problem child.”. It is this that has made most sense to me, my mental health is exactly that: a problem child. Something that has a mind of it’s own, something that can be trained and guided but not without an internal battle and with a lot of external help. However, it should be noted, since I want to pursue a career in social work and all that, that in my opinion behind every “problem child” there is a reason. Which, I guess, means that behind every “problem mental health issue” there is a reason. It’s just the finding out what, that’s the “problem”.

There’s so many causes for mental illness that it would be hard to note all of them. Biological factors: genetics; prenatal damage; illness and brain injury to name but a few. Sexual abuse and neglect as a child would fall under the psychological category. The most interesting, in my opinion though, is environmental factors. Death, dysfunctional relationships, life changes, perceived levels of beauty, bullying and relationship break downs all fall under this category. So where do I see a “reason” for my “problem”? In truth, I see reasons everywhere.

My earliest memory of pure, on going sadness and loneliness was when I was around nine. To “shake up” the cliques that start appearing in classrooms all over the country, even at such a early age, my school decided to have a class mix up. All well and good in theory. Out goes the list to all the parents of the new class register. My group of six was divided nice and neatly down the middle, not the best outcome for us as friends but the best it was going to be given the circumstances. Off I went home, not too worried about it, more curious about what this new life in year five was to bring.

The next day, friend A walks in with a letter off her mum, which I imagine read something like this … “My daughter was inconsolable last night. Due to recent class changes she is to be taken away from her best friend for life and put into the classroom next door, with two of her other best friends. Due to the injustice of it all and that fact that school is more about sitting next to your best friend as opposed to learning, I request that she is moved to the other class.”. School listens to the request and it is granted. Leaving me and Friend C together, whilst the other 4 are in another class. The next day roles around, you guessed it. Friend C’s parents have wrote a letter which, I imagine, read something like this … “As you are aware, Friend B has been swapped into another classroom. My daughter was understandably distraught that there is only one other friend in her class. She is concerned that if her friend (that’s me) is off sick, she will be alone for the day. I request that she is moved class.”. This wish was granted, leaving me alone, in a class by myself with no other friends. Nine year old me goes off home, confident that my mum will sort it and I will be reunited with my friends in September, just like all my other friends parents have. I’m not entirely sure why but this is when my mum decided to introduce her first life lesson to me of: You can’t always get what you want in life. My protest of “It’s not fair!” was met with the old classic of “Well neither is Black Beauty’s bum”. Fair point but not quite the response I was hoping for.

From then on, I had two years of being the weird, pale, big eared, big fringed, skeletal, ginger girl with no other friends in her class. Our playtime’s were different so I spent most of the time walking around the playground alone, thinking of dance routine’s that I could put on, if only I had someone to play with.

It was awful and even now, sixteen years on, going back to how alone and isolated I felt and how let down I felt by the one person who could make it right, it breaks my heart. Writing it down brings tears to my eyes, if only I could go and give nine year old me a big hug, I would. I’d gently stop me from scratching and scratching at the mole on my left leg, the one just to the side of my knee until it turned into a cut. The one I would let heal before repeating the process over and over. Every assembly when I was sat alone. Every lunch time after I’d dutifully thrown away my lunch, which landed me in trouble a few times, I would sit in the same corner and scratch. Then I’d let it heal over and repeat the process. To this day I’m not sure why I did it but the mole now looks like a freckle and is the reminder of when I took my first, tentative step into self harm, despite having no idea what it was and not coming back to pick up where I left off three years later. It should also be noted that from year 3, so what’s that, being seven (?) I used to leave all of my lunch or throw it away. I have no idea why. I once had a friend who looked at a picture of me of a child and came out with the comment “Christ, you look like a ginger Ethiopian. Did your mum lock you in a cage and starve you?”. A bit un-PC but I was skeletal.

If you’ve read this far, you deserve a medal. I seem to have run away with myself somewhat and yet there’s still so much to say. It’s cathartic or at least I like to think. Those who contact me, you know where you can find me … admin (at) bucketlistrehab.net

Sleep tight x

Up & Down

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view … Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” – To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee

Ironically, I don’t really understand myself right now. Things have been a bit all over the show recently. I’ve been up, down and all over the place.

I guess my main issue is that not only am I bored but I’m so lonely. Sitting at home all day with no money, whilst everyone else is out at work becomes incredibly boring, incredibly quickly. I need a job. I decided that in all of the chaos that has gone in recent months, I needed to, excuse the clichés, turn a positive into a negative and follow my dreams. Working in an office job, using people to make money for managing directors wasn’t sitting quite right with me. Since losing my job, I’ve set about my mission, applied for college and have been accepted unconditionally for a social work course. Providing that I do what I need to do, in a years time I will be off to university, so potentially I’m now looking at four years of study. I’ll be nearly 30 by the time I graduate but at least I’ll have a “proper” career behind me and I’ll of achieved something for me.

Although the above has given me something to look forward too, it seems a little bit too far in the future. Six weeks, 42 days, 1008 hours. I need to find part-time work to keep me busy, give me an income and continue to support myself through college. Being in £6000 debt with £0 income isn’t compatible. However, there’s a massive difference between the response you get for “proper career” jobs and part-time work is incredible. Part-time retail jobs don’t even acknowledge the handwritten application that took you 40 minutes to complete. I’m getting somewhat disheartened by it all but my only option is to keep applying and hopefully something will come up. I’ve got no choice, it’s got too.

On top of this, I’ve had to come off my Escitalopram anti-depressant. My consultant pysch said there’s been studies to say that combined with the Quitiapine that I’m on it can interfere with my heart? There’s not a chance in hell I can come off my good friend Quitiapine, so off goes the anti-d. He recommended that I go onto Sertraline, which I have no experience of but I decided that I wanted to try without anything. Initially I was fine but since then I’ve had a few days where I’ve gone absolutely nuts. Crying, sulking, arguing, being completely miserable, sleeping constantly, binge eating. I’m hoping that it’s just a phase but I’ve been off of any anti-d’s for three weeks now and it all seems a bit of a coincidence that I’ve suddenly hit a wall. I’m just trying to keep plodding on and if things get too bad then I’ll guess I have to book a trip to my GP.

So, the summary after my self-indulgent whine about everything that’s wrong in my life? I still don’t know. I’m not sure how I feel. Not happy. Not sad, well not at the moment. I’ve had hell with my hay fever and as a result I think I may have overdosed on nasal sprays, the spaced out weird feeling I’ve got indicates that. To boot, I’m 25 on Wednesday and I wish I could put it off for the next five years.

For anyone who has contacted me directly, that means a lot. I’m hoping that in a few weeks I’ll be back to ticking off my bucket list but at the moment, the majority of those need money and/or focused determination and I currently have neither. For now I’ll look at the tattoo on my side and remember:

“Life is a process; no feeling is final …”

Suncream Memories


The weather is beautiful at the moment, it’s like summer has finally arrived! With the sun comes my continuous application of suncream. It was the first time in 2015 I’ve had to get it out. In an instant the smell had all these memories rushing back to me. Memories of me and him on holiday. Good times. Nice memories. Bittersweet memories. Pangs of sadness. In truth, it really got to me. Thankfully I’ve still got the above chap who still loves me, he might be furry and sometimes smell a bit doggy but he gives ace cuddles.


Continuing with #51 on the list, I’ve continued to carry on going to the gym and I’m probably averaging 4 times a week. To give me that little bit of a boost I treated myself to some new gym clothes. I still wobble in all the wrong places but at least I look semi good now.

Going forward, I’m going to have to revamp my list. A lot of the goals no longer fit in with the current path my life is going down. I know some people will think that I’m cheating by changing it but it’s my list, I can do what I like!

Take care kiddies x

#127 Have a close encounter with a bird of prey

#127 Have a close encounter with a bird of prey


Yesterday, my Dad and I jetted off to Cheshire Falconry to take part in their Meet The Birds Experience. Personally, I’m not a big bird fan but my Dad is. Regardless though, it was excellent and the three hours flew by. It was lovely to spend some time together, father and daughter and do something different. I’ve got 100’s of photo’s that we took but I won’t bore you with them all. We got to fly four different birds, including a gorgeous Eagle. I would highly recommend going if you are in commuting distance of Cheshire.


I’ve realised that some of my goals, for now, are completely unobtainable. So I’ve decided to do a daily bucket list to keep me going and my head above water. It also gave me the opportunity to buy this cute little weekly planner so I can tick everything off each night.

Mood wise, I’m doing “okay”. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m just swimming at the moment even though there’s no shore in sight. I think that’s good, it’s showing me I’m determined to see this through.

Volunteering Gym Bunny


#51 Go to the gym (just once will do and for longer than 20minutes) x 2

I feel like I’m getting somewhere. Where? I’m not too sure yet but things seem to be falling into place more. I’ve been to the gym, not once but twice this week! I can’t say I’m feeling amazing for it but I’m hoping that that will come with time.

I have also taken another step closer to goal #59 Volunteer somewhere. I had a meeting today, I’ve signed the documents, I’ve sent off for my DBS and I have all the training materials. I won’t name the charity but it’s working with people living in supported accommodation. I’m very excited! Hopefully in the next four weeks, all checks will be back and I’ll be starting with them.

I’m still slightly concerned about how I’m dealing with the breakup. I don’t see his face anymore, I can’t even picture his face, he’s just a body with a blurred out beige patch at the top of his neck. I have no idea what any of that means but the main thing is, I’m feeling positive right now and that’s all that matters.

The Future


So, I’ve not completed anything on the bucket list this week but I’ve made some big steps. Steps that will hopefully move me away from my current place and into a better, more purposeful future. It’s a four year plan, I won’t go into details though until it’s set in stone.

I’ve enjoyed walking a lot recently, the above picture is where I was last night.

There’s still a lot of chaos in my head and I fear I’m putting a lot of emotions in boxes, as opposed to dealing with them but if it’s working, it’s working. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist for a medication review on the 8th so lets see how that goes.

Take care.


So, Monday’s aren’t the worst. Thursday’s are. I got sacked today. 6 days off with depression and a temporary contract = being on the dole.

I wanted this to be a positive place but this week I’ve been with The Crisis team twice, drugged up on diazepam, sacked and a load of other stuff.

Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.