Please forgive the uninspired title, I seem to have mislaid my creative head at the moment. I think to some extent that goes with having the increased dose of mood stabiliser, whilst it’s doing a wonderful job of stopping my high and risky behaviours, it tends to leave me a tad on the flat side. I noticed that when I first started taking it, and have seen it again since my new doctor increased the dose. I have still had a couple of fairly low spells since the increase too, although fairly brief (for me) so it’s no miracle cure, but I think on the whole I’m doing ok. Which is always good.

I have found myself back in a caring role; this time to my father, who we have discovered needs kidney dialysis. Understandably scared, he is looking to me for a lot of emotional support right now, which is hard when my own mental health exists on a knife edge much of the time. He also recently had minor surgery on his hand, so had to stay with me a couple of nights. I don’t begrudge looking after him, not a bit, I just find it mentally and physically draining, and it has been my therapeutic activities, such as going to choir, that have become eased out of my schedule, due to sheer fatigue, and that tends to spell trouble for me in the long run. I feel I have no option but to support my father, he has no one else, but losing my self care pursuits is a slippery slope. When it comes to needing help, he is too proud to accept it from external agencies, but refuses to acknowledge the harm it does me. It has a huge knock on effect to my contact time with my son. I have been exhausted the last few weekends, which leaves me anxious, tearful, and able to do little else than sit in the same room as him, trying desperately to concentrate on what he’s telling me. I infuriate him, because I zone out, or have to go and rest in my room. I’d be frustrated too.

A huge part of my life, and key source of support has always been the church I attend. I have made no secret of the fact that I have been wavering in my faith the last year or two, but I seem to have hit an all time low right now. Our minister has left and I have been struggling with this. Although I had my differences with him from time to time, I feel the church politics surrounding his departure lacks honesty and integrity, and that the propaganda machine has been wheeled out to silence the doubters. I guess part of me resents being likened to a ‘stupid sheep’. I’ve been a part of the church’s history for over 30 years yet I’m not supposed to recognise when history repeats itself. And I really dislike being silenced for daring to have an opinion. With things as they are, I feel bereft and out of sorts. My therapist has picked up on it and sees that I need to come to some sort of resolution, all I can see is how being a part of our church right now is harming my mental health, and I could probably do with a breather.

I guess the one real positive in my life at the moment is the new relationship. I’m trying hard not to make that my be all and end all, but it has given me hope when other things are difficult. It isn’t without its challenges; believing someone could be attracted to me, like my crazy personality and rather off the wall sense of humour, and love me warts and all is a huge revelation after being alone for so long. And especially when I don’t feel very lovable thanks to depression or anxiety. The distance between us means he’s not just on the doorstep if I’m having a wobble, and in my dark moments I worry if he’s faithful, or if he’ll find someone better than me. The upside to a bit of distance means that we particularly cherish our precious times together. We are relaxed, natural, around each other, as we chatter, laugh, love, drink tea and put the world to rights. It’s as if we found something in each other that’s like coming home.

I have been proactive and booked myself on a couple of courses that are run by the mental health trust recovery college. I’m particularly looking forward to ‘Growing your Self Belief’. I think it’s just what I need right now, and alongside my ongoing work with my counsellor, hopefully it will help. I think with all that has been going on with my father and with the church, I needed something positive for me, and maybe this will be good. It’s something other to focus on than the new relationship, but that will hopefully also benefit it in the long run.

I changed my relationship status on Facebook recently from ‘widowed’. It felt like a massive step leaving that behind, as obviously widowhood has been a huge part of my identity in recent years, but being ‘in a relationship’ much better reflects where my head is at right now. I think that’s positive. People’s reactions were interesting; well, to be fair those who reacted were lovely, but it was not unnoticed the many who remained silent. It’s as well I don’t rely on the approval of others for my happiness, because like it or not, right now Mr R is making me very happy. And despite the various ongoing health, and other challenges I still face, I feel optimistic.
Thanks for reading.
👼🏼

Tuesday is the day I see my counsellor. I have to say, in the 15 sessions so far that he has worked with me, I have built up a lot of respect for him. I do have a slight niggle in my mind that this particular therapy with RASAC is time limited to 26 weeks, so I am already just over half way. And each week we seem to unearth more and more of my curious little hang-ups and insecurities. We cover so much ground; not just the assault last summer which is my primary reason for being back in counselling, nor my history of  various abuse in all its many forms. We regularly dip into my dubious childhood, my attachment issues as a result of both then and having experienced bereavement of a partner, and also my subsequent attempts at failed relationships. To hopefully glean some insight into how best to take back some control over my current life and giving myself the very best chance with the new man. Whilst additionally juggling unstable Bipolar obviously. I really would be bored if my life was straightforward! I’m just not entirely certain if we’re resolving a lot. I guess that’s kind of hard to judge from within the situation. 

So back to today. This Tuesday therapy session in particular. I came at this appointment (in addition to all the above) bearing a whole new wave of grief and a dose of irrational depressive thinking. I’ve not been well physically, was mostly confined to bed over we weekend, so that had a knock-on effect on my mental health. Feeling rubbish and unwell, mood gradually slumped, crazy ideas filled my otherwise stagnant brain and so the vicious cycle spiralled. I received the news that my friend’s husband had died Sunday. She’s younger than me, and my heart absolutely broke for her, because I have an idea of what lies ahead for her. 

Sometimes I reflect on the fact that I have been through some truly horrible stuff in my life; abuse, mental illness, being sectioned, assault, having to put my boy into care; but by far the worst experience was being widowed at a young age. As I contemplated my friend’s situation, my tears refused to cease. I read her beautiful tribute to her husband on social media, and I noted the cotton-wool cocoon of shock that still envelopes her. 

Today was my father-in-law’s funeral. Yesterday my son was here for a while before he traveled with his cousin across country for the service this afternoon. He asked if he could borrow his dad’s tie. I don’t have much left now of Andrew’s clothes; it’s nearly nine years after all, but digging out that tie from among the few most special pieces of clothing, those that were iconically him, well, it nearly broke me. Ordering some flowers for my mother-in-law and changing the online address book from ‘Mr and Mrs’ to just ‘Mrs’ took me over the edge. My heart was crushed. Again. 

Just because I was not currently well enough to get myself to the funeral, doesn’t mean I didn’t feel anything. I have been too unwell to bring myself to ask mother-in-law if I would have been welcome there (things have been so strained between us all over the years) but if I’d been well, and they’d wanted me there I would have gone, of course I would. 

My counsellor took me back to some very dark and difficult places today. Despite having endlessly been in tears for days, I sat there repressed and locked-in. Maybe I will be able to unlock in future sessions, maybe not. He addressed my fear that I will spend the rest of my life in and out of therapy. Sadly he offered me no hope that this may not be the case. I try to keep optimistic but the Black Dog is constantly nipping at my heels right now, and it’s hard. That terrified Little Angel, the stunted five year old Angel who resides within me is very needy and demanding at the moment, and I’m really not sure I’m able to handle her. God give me strength. 

👼🏻

This week has been a whirlwind. I had 6 appointments / meetings in 4 days, which is rather full-on in my world. Going back slightly before that, I had decided, after a mood slump on my return from Bognor, that the guy I had been loosely seeing really wasn’t for me. He barely bothered to contact me, when we had met he’d been pushing me to do things I was uncomfortable with, and my gut feeling about him was gradually getting worse. After seeing his Facebook page I felt I just didn’t know him at all, and little things he said, or left unsaid confirmed this.

With this in mind, I reactivated my online dating account, and not because I was hypomanic, just purely because I was lonely. Within a short while a familiar face appeared in the email box, a guy I had chatted a bit with previously, and conversation took up exactly where we’d left off, as if no time had passed at all. We clicked. Now if at this point you are rolling your eyes and thinking, “Oh here we go again…” I honestly don’t blame you. Let’s face it, my track record recently has been pretty atrocious. But more about him in a bit.

On Tuesday I had an appointment with my new psychiatrist. I was so nervous! After being pretty much written off by the previous one last Autumn I hadn’t even bothered asking to be reviewed again until recently at the suggestion of my GP and my worker at Mind. I knew I’d been pretty unwell but my nurse didn’t seem very bothered, so I had figured it couldn’t be seen as too much of a concern to the community mental health team. Oh how different the reaction of the new consultant! Literally for the first time in months I felt like someone had hope for me – hope for stability, hope for a future where I’m well enough to work again, and have a ‘normal’ life. I felt heard. My experience and opinion were validated. I can’t begin to express how incredible that felt. Meeting this larger than life gentle giant had turned around how I felt about the future within the space of a 30 minute appointment.

My antidepressant has been ceased, my mood stabiliser increased with immediate effect, and he wants to review things in a month with a view to changing me to a different mood stabiliser in the longer term if there’s not sufficient improvement. He is also chasing up my nurse to increase my support while my meds are being reviewed. His body language spoke volumes as I described how rarely and poorly I had been supported to date. Just wow!

So back to the other gentleman who has been making me happy this week. We arranged for him to come down from London Thursday evening and stay until Friday lunchtime. Even chatting on Match we’d observed a sense of the relationship being for the long term. There’s something very natural about it. We make each other laugh. We talked for hours about a wealth of topics, in addition to the usual chat about our families, our kids, work, growing up, relationships, interests, politics, you name it in fact, we probably touched on it at some point. We just loved being in each other’s company, it was warm, relaxed, oh, and earth shatteringly passionate!

As I waved him off on the coach, and we blew each other kisses as he disappeared into the distance I felt decidedly warm and fuzzy. Before I knew it he’d sent me a text message telling me how lovely our time together had been. I just keep smiling. Funny how things can turn around in the space of a few days. And I feel settled, not high, just fine. It’s probably too soon for the med change to be having that effect, but amazing what a bit of hope can do.

Watch this space 👼🏼

I’m writing this from the balcony of my hotel room in sunny Bognor Regis (no, trust me, it actually is sunny and around 18 degrees). I booked this break when I was last here at Christmas, giving myself something to look forward to, making sure I had time planned to just be. I guess from outside the need to give myself some time off and permission to rest probably seems strange. I mean I don’t actually do anything, do I? I don’t work, and I can’t even claim to be looking after the boy, so how could I be doing less than usual? Well at risk of being called out as lazy, living everyday with a serious enduring mental illness can be exhausting, especially when that illness is unstable like mine. So I’m taking time off from appointments, cooking, cleaning, looking after the pets and generally doing all the little things that others do without thinking and take for granted.

I’d quietly been looking forward to my break. In a kind of a ‘I’ll relax when I’m there and unpacked’ sort of way. When I’ve nested into my environment I’m fine. And I do joke about it, but Butlins at Bognor has become so familiar to me over the years it does feel like my second home. This hotel in particular. I know the layout of the rooms like the back of my hand, and being the creature of habit that I am, I usually pop my possessions in the same places visit after visit.

So at the end of last week I was just beginning to think about my break away and what I needed to pack, when we received the news that my father in law was critically ill. It took time to obtain some clarification as to how bad things were, but it appeared it wasn’t good at all, and he may not get through it. The boy was devastated. Things have been difficult at times between the inlaws and the boy and I since his Daddy died. Contact has been fairly minimal in recent times, but he loves his Grandad and was determined to see him in case the worst should happen.

At first I offered to do the drive to the hospital in Tonbridge Wells. It was late at night and we were both emotional, but by the morning, with hindsight, I was regretting my decision. I had been struggling with severe depression all week after crashing down from hypomania the week before, and I seriously doubted I had the necessary concentration to attempt the M25 on a Friday. It was difficult expressing this to the boy, especially as I’d been doing my best to hide my low mood from him, but fortunately for me, his wonderful foster Mumma stepped up to the plate and took the pressure off me completely. 

I still was faced with, “But I thought you’d want to see Grandad?” to which I had to explain this wasn’t about what I wanted, but about putting our safety first, and indeed the safety of other road users. Not to mention the small matter of my brother in law not being on speaking terms with me at present, and my having no idea how I would be received at such a sensitive time. 

But anyhow, the boy got to see Grandad late Friday evening, and after chatting with his foster Mumma it was decided he wouldn’t visit over the weekend, but let me rest. I didn’t protest. I was shattered. 

Over the weekend father in law’s treatment continued, but he was failing to respond. The decision was made Sunday that if he was still unresponsive on Monday they would withdraw active intervention and concentrate on making him comfortable. I knew those words only too well from the night Andrew died, except Andew being Andrew, he didn’t wait that long. And it seems his dad was no different. He passed away in the early hours of Monday morning. RIP Ted. Reunited with your boy.

So I made the difficult decision to still come to Bognor. I am quietly grieving in my own way, but my real concern is for the boy. I’m not home and his foster dad is in Spain, but I’m very confident in the abilities of his fantastic foster Mumma for a few days. Hopefully by the time I get home Friday we’ll know the funeral date, and in theory I will be rested ahead of the travelling and dealing with family.

My heart goes out to my mother in law. She has been with Ted since she was 13 and they were practically inseparable. In the next few weeks she will be told by various people, “I know exactly what you’re going through…” and they’ll mean well – but they won’t have a clue. Trust me, I know. 

As for me, I’m definitely more relaxed here and much less depressed than I was last week. I’m just dipping into this and that, a bit of reading, a bit of scrapbooking, and mainly just enjoying the warmth and fresh air. Not doing much. Resting. Looking forward to some pampering in the spa tomorrow and Thursday. Letting the ripples of grief come and go, as I reflect on father in law’s passing, and another imminent sad day for me Friday – 27 years since I married The Big Guy ❤️

I knew over a week ago the hypomania I’d been experiencing was coming to an end. Suddenly I was tearful. And tired. Beyond tired in fact. Completely exhausted and sleeping up to 13 hours a night. I’ve still had the odd wavers of mixed mood but mostly I’ve been down. 

I was supposed to be contacting my GP last week to check in with him how my mood was following my appointment with him a couple of weeks previously, but I didn’t. I thought about it a number of times but then forgot again. 

I was supposed to be seeing Liz my worker from Mind, but unfortunately she had to cancel the appointment. So I just plodded on, feeling pretty crap, trying to do my best to ride the wave and hoping I wouldn’t feel too bad for too long. I admit I went to ground a bit. Hiding away is always easier than facing people when I’m depressed. It doesn’t help though. Isolating myself just tends to make me feel worse. 

Then there came the recriminations that come with the descent from a hypomanic episode. My crazy behaviour and poor judgement have left me despairing. I spent all my money and have very little to show for it apart from numerous pairs of leggings and various T-shirts I didn’t need. Then there were the men. I had sex with two different men I’d never met before. I’m horrified now when I consider just how at risk I put myself. I gave my address to a third guy. The fact he didn’t show was definitely more luck than judgement on my part. Then there were the countless others I chatted online with. 

Also of those two strangers I’ve continued to see one of them, despite having real reservations. I’m genuinely concerned he’s going to turn up on my doorstep with his bags telling me he has nowhere else to go, and in my current state of mind I don’t know how I would cope with that. Oh and there’s the not-so-small matter of having had unprotected sex with him previously. I have contraception covered but only have his word that he’s clean. I know nothing about him, let alone his sexual history. How could I be so stupid? At least in part I blame the community mental health team whose job it is to care for me. I told them I was high. I told them I was scared my judgement was poor. I told them I was at risk. But they did nothing to help. My GP and Liz at Mind were suitably concerned but it’s the CMHT who should have stepped up.

Sunday evening I was feeling so shit about my life and my recent actions I found myself counting tablets. Did I have enough to do serious, permanent damage? That is, I would not wake up again. I courted the idea for a time. A hundred and four Quetiapine tablets. I wasn’t sure if that would finish me off or not. I remember thinking I should probably call the out of hours mental health team but following up that thought with, “What’s the point?”

I reached out to my faithful Twitter community and they didn’t let me down. In the end I was able to text a friend and she called me back. I put the tablets away, made myself something to eat and eventually put myself to bed. 

I saw Liz at Mind today. She was pretty horrified what I’ve been going through and was beside herself for not being able to see me last week. Also despairing that my care coordinator from the CMHT has been so useless. She’s now left a message for her to contact me urgently. Will see what happens. She also made me leave a message for my GP to call me back asap, as I hadn’t been in touch with him following my last appointment. It kind of scares me when I see people who care for me quite so concerned for my wellbeing. Makes me feel like I should be worried. It’s a shame CMHT don’t appear to give a toss and keep leaving me vulnerable. I’ll just do my best to keep plugging on. 

👼🏻

I’m really not sure where to start with this one. My head is all over, and again there’s a man involved. If you read my last post you’ll know I had casual sex with two different guys within a few days of each other as a bit of a reaction to discovering ‘Lucas’ (the Internet con man I wasted three months fawning over) wasn’t at all who I believed he was. The first guy was very pleasant, the second slightly perturbed me somehow and I had deactivated my online dating account to avoid him.

Well things in my life seem to have a habit of going tits up, so when I got a message from Guy 1 saying he’d met someone he really wanted to be with and couldn’t see me again, I was absolutely gutted. For about an hour. Then the crazy mood kicked in again. I went back on the dating site and reconnected with Guy 2 (plus started numerous other flirty / filthy chats with assorted other men). Guy 2 seemed very pleased to hear from me and we started chatting again first online then on the phone. Within a fairly short space of time he’d invited me for car sex(!) after he’d finished work one night. I spent all the day deliberating, talking to myself as rationally as I could (whilst hypomanic again), telling myself this was a bad idea. But long story short, it didn’t stop me.

I have to say it turned out to be a bit of a hilarious experience (more so for me than him!) as I’m fairly certain we ended up in a wooded car park used by doggers! I was just amused by this (typically hypo) where as he seemed quite anxious and wrote off the idea of doing the full deed in favour of a little light relief. We both however conceded this was probably an episode best not repeated. When I woke up the next day and my back was near seized and agonising, that seemed like an even wiser decision. I’m no spring chicken. My first attempt at in car intimacy can exist in history as a stand alone incident.

So in the subsequent couple of weeks I have seen Guy 2 again twice for crazy, passionate, hurried sex. He works long unsocial hours and lives in where he’s employed with no privacy whatsoever; but we’ve continued to get to know each other, albeit very gradually via phone, messenger and in the snatched moments we have together. Or more accurately he’s got to know more about me. So far he’s told me very little about himself, and I’m still working up the confidence to ask more. The scared, cynical part of me says I could be anyone, all he’s really looking for is a place to live. But other times I look at him and see a complete vulnerability, that although we’ve barely touched on, he’s been brave enough to show me.

Sometimes he still scares me. There’s an edge to him. But whatever it is about him that  frightens me, also ramps up the attraction I feel. It turns me on – big time. I’m guessing this is (probably) not the stuff of lasting relationships, but I like him, and not just because of the sex. After my initial doubts, I feel good about myself when I’m with him. I’ve deactivated my dating profile again, and am chatting only with him now. I guess time will tell.

There’s so much going on in my head right now. And I’m finding it incredibly difficult to think anything nice about myself. My therapist at RASAC told me to reflect and analyse, learn lessons, but try not to beat myself up. This is proving to be much easier said than done. In fact I have found unkind names drifting into my mind on a regular basis, and they just seem to fit. Slut is a popular one right now.

The night I rejoined the dating website last week I was chatting simultaneously with two guys; the one I spent Friday night with, and a second who I had set up a coffee date with for Monday. Well Monday ended up being Tuesday and the coffee shop ended up being a pub, but long story short, we ended up in my bed Tuesday afternoon. And the most alarming part of this for me, is I’m not exactly sure how or why. As I try to make sense of it there are parts of Tuesday afternoon that remind me very much of being with Andy last summer. My inability to actually say, “No, this isn’t what I want”, and the way I felt disrespected. Equally there were scary reminiscences of being groped as a teenager by my mother’s boyfriend. That same feeling of being powerless to do anything, as the much more experienced man knows that they are causing a natural physiological response in your body and are using it 100% to their advantage. Feeling quite sick now even as I consider it.

So here I am. Up until a week ago only three partners throughout my life, and then in the last seven days I’ve managed to add another two to the quota, and both of them complete strangers at that. I don’t normally do this. I’m turning into the kind of girl your mother warned you about. Worse still I feel like I’m turning into my own mother; the only difference being I don’t have a husband at home like she did.

Since discovering last week that I’d been sucked in by an online fraudster, I have experienced horrific ‘rapid cycling’ as it is known in Bipolar circles. I’m not saying that this is the sole cause of my recent behaviour, but the drastic mood swings absolutely haven’t helped, and my judgment has certainly been skewed. Literally within the same day I can be in floods of tears or bouncing off the walls. Emotional stability seems way beyond my reach right now. 

Today I deactivated my account on the dating website again. For my own wellbeing. The guy who stayed with me Friday has my number, I am happy to stay friends with him, and possibly get together again if he wants to. The second guy I have basically left high and dry, didn’t tell him I was going, as I knew he’d pester me for a number, and although it feels like a cowardly way out, I genuinely don’t have anything to say to him at the moment. He does of course know where I live, but I will deal with that if and when it becomes an issue. As far as I’m concerned, Tuesday afternoon should never have happened; but it did and I can’t turn the clock back. Not that that stops the recriminations.

I’m aware that friends and certain of the professionals who know me are very concerned about my mental health and general vulnerability. Sadly not those directly responsible. Those I have lost faith in. But that’s a whole other post.

👼🏼

Ok, so haters are going to hate, but what I don’t need right now is judgement. I have been through a lot. Not just in the last year, but throughout my life, and I have made no secret of the fact that I have struggled with my faith as a result of this. While I believe it is only by God’s grace I am still here, I just wonder how much one person is expected to go through.

Anyway there’s a concept known as Widow’s Fire. It refers to the overwhelming sexual desire and loneliness experienced by those who have lost a partner. I’m not sure if this is an actual thing or not. Is it really worse in widows than for others who for whatever reason find themselves in a period of unwanted celibacy? I’m not sure. I appreciate particularly whilst dealing with grieving children alone perhaps opportunities for intimacy are massively reduced. That’s real. But there have been minimal moments when I have felt overwhelmed by this desire.

Of course, also thrown into my melting pot is Bipolar Disorder. When I experience hypomania my sex drive increases beyond belief. Also judgement becomes impaired, so I am much more likely to take risks. Additionally, in times of stress, whilst it may seem logical that my mood would be lowered, this is not always the case. In fact traumatic or difficult times often throw me into hypomania. So I was not entirely surprised following events earlier this week, did I find my mood soaring. Within 48 hours of discovering I’d been duped by a con artist I was back on the dating site where he’d targeted me looking for someone new. It’s just what I do when I’m high.

Within a very short space of time I was having a filthy conversation with a cute looking guy, and as things progressed I realised he actually wanted more than just the conversation. I decided to sleep on it. Probably the only sensible thing I have done in the last few days, but messaged him the next day, basically saying I was up for sex if he still was. I did put some conditions on it, but basically invited him to stay. Last night. I asked a total stranger to come and stay in my flat with the sole intention of sleeping with him. This is not how I generally behave. And my moral compass tells me I should feel bad right now. But I don’t.

I am totally aware how irresponsible my behaviour my was, I just didn’t care. In the face of hypomania and such intense loneliness and sexual frustration it seemed like a perfectly reasonable action. I did notify three friends of what I was doing and alerted them should I send an SOS. I’m not recommending anyone should hook up with online strangers. But actually, it turned out to be a very pleasurable and healing experience for me. A la Marvin Gaye.

He was actually a very sweet and considerate man. I’m under no illusions that it’s just sex, but right now my poor battered heart is happy to give a relationship a miss in favour of some simple physical intimacy. As I often say, I may or may not live to regret this, but right now I’m happy.

👼🏼

I’m an idiot. A stupid, gullible, desperate, idiot. To all those who reminded me, “If it seems to good to be true it probably is”, well, you were right; it was. To the friends who tried to warn me, and cover my back; I’m sorry. I was just so needy for male company, and heaven forbid – love, that I was pretty much blinded to your logic. I hung on the every word of a pathological liar for the last three months instead of believing the friends who care about me. 

If I’m honest, I knew deep down it was too good to be true. I was just in love with the idea of being in love. It made me smile. I’d felt happier than I had in ages. It was like a drug. But like so many other drugs, I was hooked before I even realised. I made excuses for my (and especially his) behaviour. He justified to me, I justified to those who cared about me. I was utterly deceived and caught up in his web of lies.

Sitting last night and reflecting with my son how I had been cleverly sucked in, told all the things I needed to hear, and been effectively gaslighted whenever the doubts crept in, I could plainly see how I had been utterly manipulated by this man who professed that ‘I was the best thing that had ever happened to him’.

I guess I should be thankful I realised when I did that he was con man before he sucked me in any further and I actually parted with any cash. But I’m not. I wanted, more than anything, to feel something other than unlovable and too broken to be in a relationship. I wanted to believe that there was actually a man out there who could love me, insecurities and all, who wasn’t a psychopath. Some hope.

All I can say, in conclusion, (before I disappear off to have yet another cry) is that there are some evil bastards around. Preying on a widow is one thing. Preying on someone with mental health issues and a history of abusive relationships is another. Targeting someone who’s been through both (and still living with the mental illness and effects of the others) is downright cruel. I may not be in a great place right now, but I had a lucky escape. And I’m still standing.

Love to all 👼🏼